


(you make me feel) so summer fling

by falloutmars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, I hope, Summer Fling, and then theres the rest, bughead messing around in veronica's extravagant beach house, honestly just a feel good fic, i guess i thought Why Not? and wrote, idk what this is, jughead is staying at veronica's beach house, lots and lots of fluff, sexual content in later chapters, shrug, starts off as a meet cute, they do domestic things, virtually no angst cos im not about that life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutmars/pseuds/falloutmars
Summary: “So, did you manage to finish the next New York Times bestseller?”Jughead hums non committedly, too busy smiling at a text that just popped through on his phone.“Jughead!” the voice yells.Immediately reversing his smile, he looks up to see Veronica, whom he forgot was in his apartment, with her arms folded and a stern look on her face. He manages to type out a quick reply before pocketing his phone, though, as he sends her a sarcastic grin. “Yes, sorry, Veronica. What were you saying?”She rolls her eyes. “The beach house, your novel, perfect writing experience…”–or, Jughead, a month at Veronica's beach house, and the perfect distraction.
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 143
Kudos: 138
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to my next mess of a chaptered fic. tbh, i adore this a lot for my own writing. i'm really happy how this turned out and i hope you enjoy it too. 
> 
> btw i made a graphic for this fic which you can see [here](https://fallout-mars.tumblr.com/post/626178258420056064/you-make-me-feel-so-summer-fling-read-chapter-1)!
> 
> title from fall out boy's city in a garden. 
> 
> without further ado, read on.

“So, did you manage to finish the next New York Times bestseller?” 

Jughead hums non committedly, too busy smiling at a text that just popped through on his phone. 

“Jughead!” the voice yells.

Immediately reversing his smile, he looks up to see Veronica, whom he forgot was in his apartment, with her arms folded and a stern look on her face. He manages to type out a quick reply before pocketing his phone, though, as he sends her a sarcastic grin. “Yes, sorry, Veronica. What were you saying?” 

She rolls her eyes. “The beach house, your novel, perfect writing experience…” 

“Oh.” His mind flashes with memories of his time in Seaside. Golden sand like her golden hair, blue-green sea like her blue-green eyes, pure uninterrupted time to do what – _who_ – he wanted. It was perfect… 

Veronica huffs this time, the click-clacking of her heels echoing throughout the room.

“Yes,” he says, dragging out the syllable. “I, uh, I did lots of writing.” 

She smiles triumphantly. “I’m still expecting to read it as a thank you, by the way.”

His eyes widen momentarily before he’s putting on that fake smile again. “Of course.”

–

It’s Veronica’s idea. And Jughead really doesn’t want to. 

But Veronica is nothing but convincing in her ways. She _knows_ how to get him to do something. Hell, she knows how to get anyone to do something she wants. It’s in her nature as a Lodge, he thinks. 

Usually, though, it can be quite entertaining to watch as she gets a businessman shaking in his boots, immediately signing whatever shady deal she gives him. But when Jughead is on the receiving end, it’s certainly less good.

Except, if he’s being honest, Veronica’s deal for him _is_ a good one. A month in her beach house over in the town of Seaside. The perfect quiet place for him to get a lot of writing done over the summer. A writing retreat, in a way. One by the beach, the sound of the lapping waves acting as the soundtrack. It sounds idyllic. 

The catch? Veronica wants to read – and _edit_ – whatever he manages to write on this trip. And oh is she expecting a lot.

“I’ll be nice when I edit,” she tells him. 

He scoffs. “Do you know how to be nice, Veronica?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, only half meaning it. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

And he does. He ums and ahs over it for some time leading up to his time off. At first, he decides against it, telling himself that their local diner will work just as well for a place to write. But somehow he forgot about the endless stream of kids and teenagers the diner sees during the summer and the subsequent noise they make.

So a week in, he changes his mind.

He knocks on Veronica’s door, willing for her to answer quicker. When she does answer, he doesn’t even bother with a greeting. “I’ve changed my mind,” he announces as he walks in.

“Hello to you, too,” she says. “And changed your mind about _what?”_

He strides over to her fridge, taking out a can of the expensive soda only she buys. “The deal.” She shrieks in delight. “Really?”

He nods, opening the can with a small fizz and taking a sip. Sometimes he wonders why he and Veronica are friends, but the sweet taste of this soda reminds him of the reason.

“Brilliant!” She claps excitedly. “Let’s talk plans.” Thinking that sounds like it’ll take a long time, he sneaks a bag of chips from her cupboard while she’s looking the other way, following her to the office. Why they can’t talk in the living area like normal people, he doesn’t know, but over years of their friendship, he’s learned not to question her ways. Just like she has seemingly learned to turn a blind eye to his food-stealing.

Jughead and Veronica are a strange match, really. He grew up poor, she’s socialite rich. He’s always been an outsider of sorts, she loves to be the center of attention. But a mutual understanding of what it’s like to be the offspring of a criminal brought them together. More siblings than friends, it just works. They have each other’s backs in a way no one else ever has. 

So after college, when she offered him a job helping her out with _whatever_ she needed doing that day, it was a no brainer. She works him down to the bone, but she pays pretty well _and_ she’ll allow him as much time off as he wants. Including a month in the summer to get back into writing his novel.

Veronica’s lovely when she likes you, but that’s not to say she doesn’t annoy the fuck out of him at times.

She just… She confuses him. He doesn’t want to sit in an office kitted out with furniture worth more than his entire existence, while a hand-painted portrait of Veronica stares at him, as they discuss something that could easily be discussed while sitting on a sofa. An uncomfortable, overpriced sofa, but still a sofa. He _works_ with her, he spends far too much time here anyway.

Today, though, he decides it’s not worth the fight.

He sits opposite her like he’s some kind of client as she rattles on about the _amazing_ summer house and the terms of their deal. She’s a businesswoman, that’s for sure. 

In the end, their quote-unquote _meeting_ doesn’t take longer than half an hour and he doesn’t have to sign anything. A win in his books, he thinks, shoveling the last of the chips in his mouth. 

“So Smithers will pick you up tomorrow morning,” she tells him. “Is 8 okay?” “What? No, no Smithers.”

She laughs at him. “Jughead.” He furrows his brows. “What? I want to take my bike.”

“Do you even know where it is?” Good point. “Can’t be too difficult,” he shrugs. “Smithers.”

He sighs. Again, it’s probably not worth the fight. “Fine, but he can pick me up at 10.”

“Fine. Happy writing, Jughead. I’ll see you in a month.”

–

Smithers arrives at 9, knocking on Jughead’s apartment door, undoubtedly ready to pack his multiple bags into the Mercedes-Benz Veronica pays for. 

Jughead is, predictably, still asleep. The knocking doesn’t wake him up, instead a phone call from an angry Veronica does.

“Get the fuck up,” she grumbles down the phone. “I need Smithers back by 3.”

“We said 10,” Jughead murmurs, voice thick with sleep. He rubs his eyes, groaning at the sunlight that streams through his old blind. 

“I don’t care,” she says, putting the phone down with a huff.

Ten minutes and no shower later, Jughead is sitting in the back of the car, feeling very out of place. His single bag got gracefully placed in the trunk of the car after a raised eyebrow of concern from Smithers, to which he just shrugged and said, “Laptop’s the most important thing.”

The almost three-hour drive to Seaside is painfully awkward. Smithers is nice enough, but he’s a professional at heart, unwilling to talk about his own personal life no matter how much Jughead pushes. In the end, he gives up. He finds himself wishing he kept his laptop with him so he could write, but he supposes Veronica wouldn’t be too happy if he threw up in her car. 

Instead, he stares out the window, watching the world go by.

Just after noon, Smithers pulls into the driveway of a fully white house in a community of a few other houses. 

Stopping the car, Smithers gets out and opens the door for him, taking his bag to the front door. There, he hands Jughead a set of keys. “As per Miss Lodge’s request, I will leave you here. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Jones.

Jughead thanks him profusely and soon enough, he’s watching the black car drive into the distance.

With a step back, he takes in the house in front of him. It’s that of a typical American beach house, but somehow bigger and grander than even those he’s seen on the TV before. He can’t quite believe that his friend owns something like this. Except, of course, he can. Veronica is an abundance of extravagances. 

It takes him a solid five minutes to figure out how to open the door. That’s how he knows it’s a fancy house. A fancy house he doesn’t belong in.

He lugs his single bag over his shoulder, stepping inside to another world.

The house is, with a lack of better words, fucking incredible. It’s all painted white and gray with silver accents. Somehow it’s not clinical though, but that’s the work of Veronica. 

Walking up the silver stairs _(silver stairs!),_ he is in complete disbelief of what he is seeing. A giant chandelier hangs from the ceiling down through the middle of the stairs. On the first floor is a corridor with more doors than he expected. 

And of course, he has to look in every single room.

On one side of the corridor, there are three bedrooms and a bathroom, all overlooking the front of the house. On the other side, there are a further two bedrooms, another bathroom, and an office. Those, though, are all overlooking the beach. Miles of pure sand in both directions followed by blue-green sea as far as the eye could see. It’s scattered with people, but quiet enough that he can’t wait to spend hours there.

He chooses the bedroom with a balcony. It has the best view, a panoramic one of this incredible place, and an ensuite with a huge bathtub and double shower.

Yeah, so he’s _excited_. He’s never been somewhere so grand and incredible. If he were Veronica, he’d just live here permanently. Why is she wasting her time in Riverdale when she owns _this?_

After dumping his bag and testing the bed _(damn_ is it comfortable), he changes into a more summer-appropriate outfit. A pair of shorts that can double up as swimming trunks if he gets the desire to take a dip in the sea – unlikely, but possible – and the same t-shirt he wears all year round. He even abandons his lifelong best friend, his beanie, deciding it is probably too hot for a woolen hat. 

As he heads downstairs with the intent of heading outside, his stomach rumbles, reminding him of his lack of food today. And as always, food comes first.

The kitchen is bigger than his whole apartment. Gray gloss with white worktops – something he will _not_ be able to keep clean – and a massive fridge-freezer that is full to the brim when he opens it. It’s practically overflowing with everything and anything he could possibly want, all of the expensive stuff he never buys but Veronica does. Undoubtedly it’s the work of one of her minions and he’s eternally grateful.

Speaking of, he should probably text her.

_Veronica this place is amazing_ , he types. _Thank you!_

It’s an uncharacteristic text, really, but he _is_ grateful so he supposes there’s no harm in telling her. After he presses send, he abandons his phone and dives into the refrigerator. 

A little while later, he’s made and eaten a turkey bacon sandwich with the sauce only Veronica buys and is ready to go out and explore. He reluctantly shoves his phone in one pocket and his wallet and keys in the other, leaving any writing materials at the house today in exchange for time to relax, and heads out.

As he does, walking out the back door, he comes across something he somehow managed to miss earlier. A fucking swimming pool. He should have expected a Veronica Lodge beach house to have a swimming pool.

But _wow_. He is in a state of luxury he never expected to endure. 

Having to decide between the pool and the beach is a decision he didn’t expect to have to make, but he picks the beach for now. He entirely plans on coming back and jumping right in the pool, though, so it’s just… the beach _first_. Exploring is good. Exploring might give him some much-needed inspiration, too.

Dragging himself past the pool, he walks down a set of white wooden steps with a gate at the bottom. He remembers one of the keys having the label ‘gate’ so he plucks them out of his pocket and gives it a go. It works first time and he even remembers to lock it behind him. All in all, he thinks he’s doing well as a person of luxury.

He steps directly onto the sand. Flip flops on – _yes_ , he owns and wears flip flops – it immediately starts covering his feet. If he’s honest, he loves the feeling of sand between his toes. It reminds him of the summer and just general _happiness_. And this is no different. He smiles immediately at the feeling and at the sound of the waves gently crashing in the distance. It’s just exactly what he needed.

He wanders towards the water, deciding to go all in and walk along the shore with both water and sand running over his feet. (So what? He’s on vacation.)

He takes a slow walk to the right of the house, admiring the view and other houses along the way. The beach itself is relatively quiet, scatterings of families and lone people enjoying it. He guesses the majority of people who use this beach live or stay in the beach houses or the nearby area, remembering Veronica telling him about Seaside’s main beach being a lot busier and more touristy than this stretch.

In all honesty, the quietness suits him. He is, by default, a loner, and with the purpose of this trip being writing, it’ll do him quite nicely. He thinks about bringing a notepad out here and writing that way, rather than fighting the glare of the sun on his laptop, but that’s definitely a plan for tomorrow.

After a saunter for ten or so minutes, he comes across a small parade of shops. He buys a beach towel in one – he’s on _vacation_ – and ice cream in the other. Chocolate ice cream with brownie chunks and chocolate sauce in a waffle cone, of course. Then, he, the ice cream, and the towel all head off in the same direction as before to find the perfect space to sit.

He’s too busy watching someone on a jet ski – they look _cool_ , okay – and not looking where he’s going when it happens. A splat and crack of his ice cream falling onto the floor. A gasp as a woman bumps into him. 

She’s staring at the broken cone and melting ice cream on the floor when he looks at her. “Oh my god, I am so sorry.” 

He can’t bring himself to care, chuckling and saying, “No worries. I’m sure the birds will eat it.”

The woman in question looks up at him, a confused smile on her face. She blinks. “Well, I’m sorry anyway.”

“Honestly, you don’t need to be. I’m not sure it was your fault.”

She smiles again. She has a _pretty_ smile. “Can I… Let me get you another one anyway?”

Against his better judgment, he agrees. “I guess if it’d make you feel better…” 

“It would.”

He nods.

“Follow me.” So he does. Honestly, he doesn’t know why he let her convince him to let her replace his ice cream. He _really_ isn’t bothered about it. Yeah, it was nice, but he could just get another one himself or tomorrow. Letting a stranger buy him one seems almost cruel. She doesn’t owe him anything.

Maybe it’s her smile. Maybe it’s because he’s on vacation and nothing else matters. 

Either way, it turns out to be a _good_ decision. Great, some might say.

Her name is Betty. She doesn’t laugh when he tells her his own name, instead telling him that her parents still call her Elizabeth. She lives in the area with them but likes to spend as much time as possible down at the coast. It inspires her, she tells him, it inspires her photography. That’s what she likes to do when she isn’t working at her parents’ newspaper. Take photos. It’s evident, he realizes, from the camera hanging around her neck. 

She takes photos of the coast mainly. She tells him how much she likes the colors of it. The blues, the greens, the yellows, the golds. As soon as she says it, he notices how the colors she loves are the ones that from here out will remind him of her. Maybe there’s something in that. The way she loves the colors of this place, the ones that happen to make up her. 

She buys him ice cream. He gets just a simple chocolate cone, this time, feeling too bad to make her replace the over the top one he had before. She buys herself a strawberry cone and he insists she stay with him while they eat.

They sit together on his new beach towel, watching out to the sea, and they talk. He tells her why he’s here. Writing, he says. Wow, she replies. He tells her he hopes to be inspired the way she is around here and she blushes. She blushes and he wonders if she’ll ever find the soft red color her cheeks turn as inspiring as he is. 

They talk beyond their two ice creams, the gentle crashing of the waves becoming the soundtrack to their conversation. 

As the families begin disappearing, Jughead wonders if he should excuse himself, if he should let her get back to her photography or her family. Selfishly, he doesn’t want to. He wants to keep talking to her, keep watching the way her eyes light up when she speaks about her photos. She’s fascinating in a way he isn’t sure he’s ever felt with another human being before. And he wants to keep that.

But as the sun starts to set, the sky turns a similar color to the blush of her cheeks, he realizes that this girl is the coast personified. And he should let her get back to living. 

He stands up when the conversation comes to a natural end. “I’d better get going,” he says, not failing to notice the way her face drops slightly. “Let you, uh, get on with–” He gestures towards her camera and shrugs.

She stands up, too, so he picks up the towel, shaking the sand off of it. He throws it over his shoulder and smiles at her.

“It was lovely to meet you, Jughead,” she says with a smile of her own. One he’s sure could light up the whole world in a way the sun fails to.

“And you, Betty.” 

_Will I see you again?_ he wants to ask. _I want to see you again_. But instead, he stays quiet.

As if she could read his mind – and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she could – she brings a hand out to touch the side of his arm and says, “I’ll see you around?”

He nods, smiling again. Smiling around her feels like the natural thing to do. “Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.”

“Who knows? Maybe you can buy me ice cream next time.”

– 

That evening, he has to ring Veronica to ask her how to use the oven. And of course, she asks about his writing.

“I’ve only been here a few hours,” he whines, shoving a frozen sourdough pizza into the oven he managed to put on only with his friend’s instructions. He’s not incompetent, the rich and their ways are just a mystery to him.

“And?” she scoffs. “You’re there for writing.” He can’t help but laugh. “I’m on _vacation,_ Veronica.”

“Don’t forget our deal, Jughead,” she says in a stern but fond way only she can nail before hanging up.

“I sure won’t,” he says to himself, allowing his mind to wander to the enigma that is the girl on the beach. Betty. _Betty of the beach_. 

Once his pizza is done, and somehow notburnt, he takes it, a notebook, and a pen outside. He chooses a sun lounger by the pool – now lit up with tiny LEDs – with a view of the slowly darkening sky over the sea. The fiery red sky he looks out on inspires him in a new way, one that he hadn’t found in colors before today. 

One hand on holding the pen, scrawling across the page, the other is used to eat the pizza, somehow equally as inspiring as the view in front of him. 

Eventually, the red color goes and is replaced with the dark blue of a night sky. Stars scatter the sky and the moon sits high above the horizon, casting a shadow of light that glistens across the gentle waves of the sea. 

It’s beautiful. 

The sky is clearer than that of his hometown and the stars brighter. Part of him wishes he knew the different constellations. He wonders if Betty knew them, he wonders if she would point them out to him. 

Writing into the darkness of the night, he crawls into his king-sized bed at just after midnight, letting the cool air-con smother him.

He falls asleep thinking about his newfound fondness for the colors that surround him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here goes chapter two! a little jughead alone time, a lot of bughead.

For the first time in, well, a _really_ long time, Jughead wakes up feeling well-rested. There’s some cliche saying about the sea air or something he’s sure Veronica has told him on more than one occasion, but he ignores it because he realizes it’s actually true. And he will not be seen or heard calling Veronica Lodge right. 

He jumps out of bed, choosing to sit on the balcony instead of staying in bed. He feels like a new person already as he wonders if he could go for a morning swim, if he is _really_ that person who exercises before breakfast.

In the end, he decides that, yes, yes he is. Or at least for the next month, he is.

Changing into his swim shorts, he actually remembers the sunblock this time. Thankfully, though, he’s not as burnt from yesterday as he thought he would be. Jones’ genes, or something. But today he won’t take that chance.

He heads downstairs with an uncharacteristic spring in his step. He’s genuinely excited to be here, to spend some time writing and exploring, and maybe even _bump_ into Betty again. This place just… he’s happy.

With a running start, he jumps into the pool, not caring about the splash it makes. The water is ever so slightly warm, yet somehow the perfect temperature for the weather outside. 

He swims lengths. He hasn’t swum properly like this since he was a kid. Even though Veronica often has pool parties and drags him along, there is rarely ever any actual swimming, so this is nice. He swims and he feels the warmth of the sun on his back because he’s on vacation and he _can._

Afterward, he dries out on the sun lounger, people watching. He enjoys people watching, making up stories about them. It helps him with his novel. He can imagine real people as his characters, studying them to make them real before transferring them into words.

He’s dry in just ten minutes but ends up staying out for a further twenty. The sun makes him feel alive and he wishes the sound of the sea could be the soundtrack to his whole life. Or maybe he wants to be the main character in a movie where wave sounds play in the background at all times. 

Or maybe he should contemplate moving to the coast…

Eventually, he gets hungry and, well, his appetite wins out. 

Breakfast consists of a croissant with chocolate spread, and the good kind of coffee. He eats on his bedroom balcony, feeling like a superstar from a movie as he enjoys the sun and the view. 

He really is living his best life. 

After that, he contemplates his options for the day. He could stay here – on the balcony, in the office, or by the pool – and write. The view is enough to inspire him all day.

Or he could go out again. He could sit on the beach with his notebook or he could wander a bit further in search of some other picture-perfect location. Maybe going out will give him a chance to bump into Betty again…

So that’s decided. Today, he’ll explore.

A quick shower later and he’s dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, more sunblock on and he’s ready. He throws a few things in a backpack: a notebook, a beach towel, a bottle of water, his wallet, phone, and keys. And with that, he’s off.

Practically skipping down the steps, he’s smiling like an idiot to himself. When his feet hit the sand, he can only smile bigger.

_Wow,_ he thinks to himself, _Veronica does have good ideas after all_.

He walks along the beach until he reaches a spot he deems good enough for the day. The spot happens to be near the row of shops from yesterday, so if he _were_ to run into Betty again, it’s likely to be around this area. And, uh, of course the outlook is lovely too.

Throwing his towel down, he shuffles into a comfortable position, taking the notebook out of his bag and opening it up to where he left off. He digs his feet into the sand and loses himself in his words.

The sun beats down on his back as he writes into the afternoon. So distracted, he accidentally forgoes lunch, instead making the progress he wanted to this summer. Words and inspiration whirl in his mind, transferring onto paper with a swipe of his hand.

Hours later, still lost in another world, he’s dragged out of it when something hits him on the head. He looks up from his paper only to see a giant inflatable beach ball bouncing away from him and an oh-so-familiar face running towards him.

It is, of course, Betty. She grabs the ball and bounds over to him, a giant grin on her face. “Hello, stranger,” she says.

He laughs. “Nice ball you got there.” She gasps, giggling. “It’s no fun when you’re alone.”

“Is that a hint?”

“It would be,” she says but she’s shaking her head, “but I can see you’re busy.”

Jughead contemplates his options once again. He did _want_ to bump into Betty, although he definitely wasn’t expecting Betty in a swimsuit (but _holy shit)_. But he was doing very well with his writing and does he want to stop?

When he meets her eyes, he realizes that, yes, he does want to stop. Writing can wait. It’s not every day he gets the offer of keeping someone like Betty company.

___(Someone like Betty_ meaning… okay, _yes_ , he thinks she’s pretty. Beautiful, even, But also, she’s interesting, she’s funny, and he’d really like to get to know her more.)

So he shrugs. “I can spare a few minutes.”

The grin he gets in response makes it entirely worth it.

Betty leads him to a volleyball net a few minutes walk away from where he was sitting. He didn’t know it existed, but then again, why would he? She offers him the use of her locker too, so he dumps all of his stuff in there. In a brave – for Jughead – move, he pulls his t-shirt off, shoving it atop his bag, leaving him in just his swim shorts. 

In his defense, it is warm enough for that attire. Of course, there’s no harm in showing off his _definitely not acquired through hard work and determination_ muscles. 

“Uh, I hate to break this to you, Betty,” he says, trying to hide his smirk, “but this–” he points to the giant ball she’s holding “–isn’t a volleyball.”

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’. “It’s a beach ball. ‘Cause we’re on the beach.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “Ever heard of _beach_ volleyball?”

“Just take out the ‘volley’ and we’re good.”

He’s laughing too hard to reply.

In the end, they play as she wanted. Her one side of the net, him the other. More often than not, he fails to aim his hit actually over the net and towards her. 

Luckily, she finds it funny.

“You’re _awful_ ,” she giggles as she runs after the ball for what must be the eighteenth time in the same number of minutes. She throws it back over the net from afar, giggling even more when he falls over into the sand trying to catch it. 

“Look,” he threatens her with a faux hard throw, “I never said I was good. You just wanted company!”

The smile she sends him is one full of something he can’t quite detangle. All he knows is that it’s beautiful and he could write pages and pages about how she lights up this world. 

Instead, he throws the ball at her, for real this time. “Bring it on,” he chuckles.

She catches it, even after not concentrating. She catches it so effortlessly. “You’re on,” she yells back.

The ball gets hit back and forth over the net a surprising number of times before one of them misses. And for once, it isn’t Jughead. He punches it over the net, and okay, yeah, his aim is a bit off, but she has plenty of time to run over to it and hit it back. Instead, she notices it too late, diving into the sand in a poor attempt to get it before he bounces on the ground. 

She does, of course, fail. But fails graciously. 

He jogs over, offering her a hand to help her get up. 

She takes it. “Thanks,” she mumbles, that same blush coming back. 

“That looked like it hurt.”

She shakes her head and sends him a smile. “Nah, but I do think we should take a break now.”

“Good idea.”

What he thinks when she says that is sitting down, maybe grabbing that bottle of water from his bag, chatting some more. But no. Betty’s idea of a break is swimming. In the sea.

At first, he’s apprehensive. He can swim, sure. And he proved that to himself this morning. But the _sea._

“We don’t have to,” she reassures him as they wander towards the shore. “I can tell you’re second-guessing this.”

He wants to ask how, but his lack of words is probably a dead giveaway. “I… yeah.”

“Don’t worry, Jughead, I’ll keep you safe.”

And he doesn’t doubt it for a second. “Fuck it. Let’s go.” They run after that, reaching the sea with a burst of giggles in just a few strides. It’s not as cold as he expected, to be honest. Probably something to do with the near-on constant heat in this part of the state. So it’s pleasant. 

Just paddling for a while, they get the chance to chat some more. 

“So, how’s the writing going?” she asks, a slight teasing hint to her voice. 

“It _was_ going very well,” he replies, “but then someone rudely interrupted me.”

She flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “Whoops.”

He smiles at her. “Totally worth it.”

“You say that _now_ …” 

He eyes her suspiciously, but before he knows it, her arms are flapping in the water, sending it flying in his direction. His hair is getting soaked, there’s saltwater in his eyes but he’s laughing, he’s laughing so damn much that he can’t even fight back.

She’s laughing too and after a couple of minutes, she slows down, giving him the chance to pull himself together and get her back.

And he does. He cups his hands together, pushing a scoop of water towards her. Considering his previous bad aims, he nails this one, a load of water drenching her entirely. 

“Jughead!” she screeches. “What the fuck?!”

He does it again, but this time, she so does she. Water flies everywhere as they throw it at each other, ducking and wading around in the sea to avoid the biggest splash. 

From afar, they must look like a couple of kids. And to be honest, Jughead feels like one, too. It’s great, reverting back to that child-like state at 24. That’s what being on vacation feels like, he thinks. 

Eventually, they both slow to a stop, now almost shoulder deep in seawater. 

“Wow,” he says, still giggling.

She nods. “How’s that for keeping you safe?” “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

She paddles towards him and pokes him in the arm, hard. 

“Ow!” he yelps. “What was that for?”

“Just checking,” she grins. “C’mon, let’s swim.”

Following her lead, they swim outwards until they can’t reach the ground anymore. When they stop, he has to keep kicking his legs so he stays afloat, which is somehow more exercise than he’s done all year. 

“My friend will be proud of all this exercise I’m doing,” he says, panting slightly.

“Not one for the gym, huh?” He shakes his head. “No. Can’t you tell?”

In response, she gives him _a look_. Raised eyebrows, a tilt of the head, a tiny smirk. He cannot, for the life of him, work out what it means. But she doesn’t give him long enough to before she’s swimming off again and he’s following after her.

They spend a while swimming together, playing like children, laughing as if they’d been friends forever. It’s nice, Jughead thinks, to have made a vacation friend. If he could call her that. He wonders if he should tell Veronica about her. He’s sure she’d love to know. For now, he decides, he’ll keep the existence of Betty to himself.

They make it out of the water later that afternoon. Heading back to the locker, Jughead empties it of his stuff before laying his towel out on the sand for them to sit on. 

Whilst they dry out, they chat idly some more. Time crawls on, people disperse from the beach, and he gets hungrier. Around 6, his lack of lunch catches up on him, and his stomach rumbles. Loudly.

Betty giggles. “Hungry?” He nods. “Always.” Her next words surprise him. “Want to get dinner?”

He doesn’t bother hiding the grin that threatens to embarrass him. He can’t bring himself to care. “Sure. Yes. I’d love to.”

“Great! There’s this diner about ten minutes away that does takeout. We could eat on the beach?”

_Is this girl purposely trying to win me over?_ he wonders. _Because she’s doing a brilliant job at it if she is._

Shrugging his t-shirt on, he agrees. That prompts her to dig a thin piece of white fabric out of her bag and tug it over herself. As it turns out, it’s a beach dress of sorts. Works to cover her up enough that it’s socially acceptable to walk around in, but not too thick to be warm. Not that Jughead knows a lot about women’s fashion, or is, uh, overly _interested_ in Betty’s choice.

Okay, it looks nice. He thinks she would look nice in anything. _Sue him_.

They walk the short journey to this diner. It’s much like any other American-style diner if he’s honest, but there’s a comforting sort of nostalgia he gets from it. It reminds him of Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe back in Riverdale. He spent many an hour there as a teenager. Less as an adult, but it still acts at the heart of the town and where he’d be right now if it weren’t for Veronica.

The menu is much of the same. They always are, though somehow that’s what makes them so amazing. That’s the charm of a diner.

Betty orders a single hamburger with a side of fries and a vanilla milkshake that he teases her for. He orders a double cheeseburger, sides of fries _and_ onion rings, and a double chocolate milkshake. She, rightfully so, teases him back. So in retaliation, he insists upon paying for her food.

That’s how he learns how stubborn she is. As Veronica Lodge’s assistant, though, so is he.

He wins with an affectionate eye roll and a promise that she’d return the favor another day. He’ll take that. A promise of seeing Betty again is a win he’ll take any day.

Once they collect their food, presented to them in typical diner paper bags, they walk back to the beach. Occasionally, their hands bump together and it makes Jughead want to grab hers and thread their fingers together. He pushes that thought out of his mind in favor of the warm food he carries in the other arm.

Reaching the beach, they take up their usual set up of sharing his towel – a _great_ purchase, he thinks – looking out towards the sea, waiting for the sun to set. Only this time, there’s added food. 

To begin with, they eat in silence, the gentle crashing of the waves serving as the conversation between them. 

He practically absorbs his cheeseburger with the speed he eats it at, with Betty watching on as she eats individual fries and tries to hide her amusement at his eating techniques. 

“What?” he mumbles through a mouthful of onion rings.

She shrugs, making direct eye contact as she dips a fry in her milkshake and plops it in her mouth.

He swallows his mouthful. “What the _fuck?”_

“It’s nice. Try it.”

He narrows his eyes at her before sighing in defeat. “Fine.” Leaning over, he steals one of her fries, sticking it in her milkshake. He looks at it intently, finally taking a tentative bite. His face screws up in disgust. “No! Nope, no way.”

She giggles, stealing one of his fries in retaliation. 

“Ugh,” he whines, “that’s disgusting.”

The rest of his food is tainted by the gross taste of the salty fry and the sickly sweet one of the milkshake. Having said that, it’s not a bad meal. Obviously, it’s nowhere near as good as Pop’s – he doesn’t think anything ever will be – but it’s a good substitute. One he’ll be more than happy to have again.

He finishes before Betty, so he resorts to slowly sipping his own milkshake while she polishes off her food. Part of him is tempted to steal another fry – to him, that’s practically flirting – but he thinks better of it, letting the thick chocolatey milk soothe his tongue from her abomination. 

As he does so, she bumps her shoulder with his. He looks over. She has a grin on her face as she twirls the straw of her milkshake in between her teeth. 

“Hi?” he says through a breathy laugh.

She shuffles around. “Let’s play a game.”

“What is it with you and games, Betty?”

She makes a muffled _I don’t know_ noise. 

He laughs again. “Okay, what is it this time?”

“Let’s call it…” She brings a hand up to pinch her chin, looking up, and hums. “...Getting To Know Each Other.”

“Creative name.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll start.”

“Hey, hold up! I never agreed!”

Sipping her milkshake, she makes direct eye contact with him, and he just sighs, defeated. It’s an empty argument, they both know that. He’s not actually mad. In fact, the smile he struggles to keep off of his face suggests he’s the exact opposite. 

“Great,” she says, bringing her hands together with a clap. “What’s your favorite color?” He groans loudly. “What kind of basic question is that?” “One I want to know the answer to.”

Bringing a hand up to run his fingers through his hair, as if that’s going to help him decide, he finds himself thinking of the colors surrounding them right now. The colors that make up _her._ The same blues and greens and golds and yellows that inspire her photography, and the same ones he found inspiring him.

Sure, they make up the beach, they make up this astounding place. But they also make up her.

“The colors of the beach,” he answers after a moment. His voice is soft, he looks right into her eyes, and he smiles. 

He wonders if she understands the implication. 

“Mine, too,” she whispers, and he thinks that she does.

He clears his throat. “Why photography?”

“Woah, way to jump in at the deep end,” she says, only a hint of humor in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

She shakes her head and smiles again. “I guess… there’s something beautiful about being able to capture a moment.”

He nods as if he understands. At first, he doesn’t think he does, yet as he thinks about it more, maybe he does get it after all. Capturing a moment in time, whether that be a landscape, nature, or people, it _is_ beautiful. The way she describes colors inspired him to create, and that’s beautiful, too. 

After a few seconds, she asks, “So why writing?”

It’s something he hasn’t thought too much about if he’s honest. Which he knows makes it a stupid thing to ask her. But her answer intrigued him. It makes him wonder if he does have a reason deep down within him.

He thinks about it. He can feel her eyes on him as he stares off into the distance, but that only makes the answer come to him quicker.

“Because I’ve never been good at talking, I’ve never been good at putting my feelings into words out loud. But I can on paper. And I like that.” 

When the words leave his mouth, he realizes how true they are. His words may be fiction, yet they’re laced with the truth of who he is.

“I like that, too,” she says in a quiet voice. 

He looks up at her and there are tears pooled in her eyes. He feels a pang of guilt until he realizes that she’s smiling, too. 

“My turn,” he says, watching as she wipes her eyes. “Uh, what’s your favorite…”

They throw questions back and forth like they did the beach ball, except this time, there’s less missing and diving involved. Some questions he does want to avoid, but with Betty, she makes him feel like everything’s okay. 

The sun sets while they talk. He, once again, notices the colors it creates. It amazes him, really, how nature can create something so incredible. He can see why she loves capturing these moments.

As he watches on, he nudges her. “Can I see some of your photos?”

“Maybe one day.”

He pulls his gaze away from the horizon and towards her. Her expression is unreadable. 

“I’m only here for a month,” he whispers.

She nods and smiles. “Maybe one day _soon_.”

They part later that night when Jughead offers to walk Betty home. She insists she’ll be fine on her own, so he gets her to agree to text him as soon as she gets there. As much as it sounds like a cheap ploy to get her number, he actually is concerned about her wellbeing, but he thinks she knows that.

“Night, Betty,” he says with a smile. 

She leans forward and for a moment, he thinks she’s going to kiss him. Instead, she presses her lips against his cheek. It’s so gentle, so delicate, that he can barely feel it. 

When she pulls back, she’s grinning. The moonlight beams down on her, a soft white glow lighting one side of her face up. 

_Another color to add to the list_ , he thinks.

“Goodnight, Jughead,” she says before practically skipping off into the distance.

Jughead does the same, making it home after just a few minutes. Ten minutes later, he receives a text from Betty.

_Today was amazing_ , it reads. _I’m home now, but see you tomorrow?_

_Definitely,_ he replies.

That night, he falls asleep with a lopsided smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed the latest chapter. if you did, please leave your comments and kudos – ao3 emails are life.
> 
> see you soon! and in the meantime, come visit me on [tumblr](https://fallout-mars.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty & Jughead spend the day together in the beach house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in uploading. better get this completed before the end of summer. enjoy!

When sunlight beaming through his curtains wakes him up before 8 am, he isn’t even mad. How can he be when the strokes of yellow-white light remind him of this little piece of heaven he’s living in right now?

As he lays in bed, he thinks about texting Betty. He wonders if she’s up yet. If he’s honest, she strikes him as the type of person who would go on morning jogs. Though, as of yesterday, he’s one who goes for morning swims. 

Before that, he decides to shoot Veronica a text instead. Common courtesy, he supposes. Just a simple _hope you’re surviving without me_ will suffice. 

But in true Veronica Lodge fashion, a text back won’t cut it. His phone starts ringing.

“Hello,” he answers in a sleep-hazed voice. 

“Jughead! How are you? How’s the house? How’s your productivity?”

He chuckles lightly. Of course she has all these questions. “Good, yeah, everything’s good.” He’s not lying. Everything is _good_. Not an answer approved by his best friend, though.

“Details, Jughead!”

He gives her what she wants. That’s the easiest way around this, and he’s learned that the hard way. So he tells her about what he’s been doing. Swimming, writing on the beach, eating in that diner. Everything except for Betty. It’s best that way, too. Again, learned the hard way. 

She sighs longingly once he’s come to the end. “Sounds wonderful. I’m glad you’re having a good time.” 

She means that, he can tell. As much as they poke fun at each other, they both genuinely care about the other person. It’s at times like these that he’s reminded of it.

“Thank you, Veronica,” he says. “I really owe you one.”

“I can’t wait to read what you write!”

He laughs. “Talk later.”

After hanging up, he feels lighter. Part of him, though, wonders what she’d think of Betty. In a way, he thinks they’d get on like a house on fire. Maybe one day he’ll find out.

Maybe one day soon.

He smiles at her words from last night. 

Against his better judgment, he sends her a text. 

_What are you up to today?_

Maybe it’s a stupid thing to say. But part of him is too nervous to outright ask her out. On a date, or otherwise. So he’s testing the waters, he supposes. 

Her reply comes less than 2 minutes later. 

_Been waiting for a text._

He chuckles to himself. _Did you get it?_

_Yes._

With a deep breath and a mini pep talk, he types out his reply. 

_Do you want to come to me today? We can mess around in the pool and my friend left a fuck ton of food._

He hopes it isn’t too… forward. He hovers over the send button for about thirty seconds before deciding that if it goes wrong, he’s still in a wonderful place and endless spare time to actually write.

The three little dots taunt him. 

Eventually, her reply pops up.

_Yes, I’d love to! Got a couple things to sort first, so how’s 11?_

_Perfect_ , he replies without hesitation. He sends her as detailed as possible directions to the gate that leads onto the beach, deciding he’ll probably hang around outside so he can spot her. 

He finds himself feeling giddy with excitement. 

Before, though, he has a few hours to himself. 

First, he grabs a shower. He enjoys the extra space and allows his mind to wander, thinking about what he _could_ be doing in this shower. Then, he dresses in his only other pair of swimming shorts and another weather-appropriate t-shirt. Heading downstairs, he works out how to use the washing machine and makes himself breakfast. He takes it upstairs along with his laptop and notebook, choosing to make use of the office this morning.

If he had a plan to utilize every room in this house, he wasn’t going to tell Veronica of it.

He types out the few pages he had handwritten, finding this technique to be useful for editing. If anything, the more times he edits his own work, the less scrutinizing Veronica’s will be. Or, well, that’s the hope. 

Before he knows it, a couple of hours has passed and his phone is ringing once again.

“Hello?” he answers without looking at the caller ID.

“Hey!” a voice says on the other end. 

“Oh! Hey, Betty.” He sighs in relief. “Everything okay?”

“Yes! I’m just about ready to leave, but I was wondering if there’s anything you want me to bring? Or get on the way?”

He thinks for a second. “Are there any 7-Elevens on the way? Oh, oh! And the beach ball.”

“You want Slurpees, right? Please tell me you want Slurpees.”

“Sure do, Betty,” he chuckles.

“Your wish is my command. See you soon.”

_And he can’t wait._

–

She brings two blue raspberry flavored Slurpees and a box of Milk Duds. Jughead decides that he could marry her right on the spot. Not only is blue raspberry the _best_ flavor, but Milk Duds are his all-time favorite candy.

“You sure do know the way to my heart,” he says by way of a greeting. And then, “Thank you.”

She grins, following him through the gate. He locks it behind her and leads her up the steps into his own slice of paradise. 

“Wow,” is the first thing she says when they reach the top. 

He can agree with that. The pool glistens in the sunlight, an array of sun loungers bordering it. Everything is just… upmarket. Signature Veronica Lodge style. Her house in Riverdale is just the same, but he’ll never get used to the life of luxury she leads. 

“Take your pick,” he says, gesturing to the seats. 

She blinks in disbelief. “I don’t know where to start.”

He giggles. “How about… here?” He wanders over towards two matching white-wooden loungers facing towards both the pool and the beach. They’re under a pale gray sunshade with a table of the same color in the middle.

She follows him, dumping the Slurpees and Milk Duds onto the table. “Perfect.” He watches as she pulls the same beach dress from the other day over her head. This time, though, to reveal a dark blue bikini. His eyes almost fall out, snapping open in pure shock.

Swallowing thickly, he sits down and averts his gaze. He grabs the drink and takes a sip, letting his focus move to the ice-cold liquid instead of Betty’s tanned skin.

Once he looks back up, she’s sprawled out on the lounger, grinning at him.

“This is the life,” she says between sips of Slurpee.

“Sure is.”

They enjoy their drinks with idle chatter until their tongues turn blue and Betty starts laughing. Jughead laughs back once he realizes what she’s laughing at. It’s a good distraction from the rabbit hole he gets lost down thinking of her lips – also now blue – and the sweet taste of them if he were to lean over the table and press his to them.

Then, she manages to distract him with Milk Duds. Of course, she wants to play a game. “Throw the dud in my mouth,” she tells him. “If you miss, I get a question.”

“That’s stupid,” he says, laughing. “Can’t we just _eat?”_

She shoves one in her mouth, eyes fixed to his. “Why can’t we ask questions?” “You’re an enigma.”

“Yep.” She pops the ‘p’. “Maybe I just wanna get to know you.” He grins. “I’m an open book, Cooper. Ask away.” He shuffles around so he’s sitting more upright. “But please just let me eat!”

That earns him a box thrown in his direction. It hits his stomach and he only just manages to catch it before all of the candies are rolling on the floor, which would be a disaster and potentially the end of him and Betty before it even began. 

Okay, definitely not. He already likes her too much for that.

He shoves a handful in his mouth before throwing the box back at her. “Mm, I love Milk Duds,” he tries to say but his mouth is so full that it comes out more like _M’lav Molk’Dod._

Surprisingly enough, she understands it, but only after laughing at him. “Me too. But I still want a question.” He nods.

“Are you single?” He swallows down his mouthful. Not what he was expecting. “Yes.” “Good to know,” she smirks.

“Are you?”

She nods.

“Interesting.”

–

Later, they’re in the pool to cool off after Jughead complained for ten minutes straight that he was too hot. It’s not exactly a tough thing to do, jumping into your own private pool to escape the heat, but he has to make a fuss. He wonders if that’s something Betty will get used to about him. He’s a drama queen at heart, but he blames Veronica for that.

Wearing goggles and using pool noodles he found in a store cupboard, they look like a pair of children messing around during swimming lessons. 

He’s straddling his noodle as if it’s a horse – yes, he knows he’s an idiot – trying and failing to balance on it. Betty, on the other hand, has hers curled around her neck. It’s acting as a pillow of sorts so she can lay on her back, leisurely floating around the pool.

“How do you know I’m not using you for your friend’s facilities?” she asks as she bobs past him flailing. 

Her voice makes him fall off with a giant splash that reaches Betty. He manages to reach the noodle again, so he can float rather than fall. “I guess I don’t,” he replies, voice heavy with sarcasm, “but considering you didn’t know about this place when you so rudely destroyed my ice cream, I’d guess you’re not.” 

She swims herself to the edge of the pool, pulling herself up to sit on the edge. “And I bought you food.”

He moves to be beside her. “So, like, do you like me for _me_ or something?”

“Or something,” she grins.

Looking up at her, the sun comes from behind her. It frames her, making a halo effect as if she’s an angel. (Spoiler alert: she _is._ Well, Jughead thinks she is.) It only adds to the constellation of colors that makes up her. 

Today, those colors include that navy of her bikini, the gently sun-kissed color of her skin, and the darker golden blonde her hair has gone from the water. Of course, the blue-green of her eyes stick out, only to be heightened by the navy blue.

If he were a photographer, he would capture those colors and the way the soft glow of the sun makes her look nothing short of beautiful.

But he’s not. That’s her scene. Instead, words whirl around his head, coming from corners of his brain he didn't know existed. He’s itching to write them, he’s itching to write about _her_.

He pulls himself up beside her, standing up and letting the water drip off of him. 

“Hey,” he says, tapping her on the shoulder, “I’m just gonna grab my notebook, okay? Do you want any snacks?”

She shakes her head as she pushes stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I can go–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I mean, uh, as long as you’re alright with me writing for a bit.”

“Sure.”

Before he heads inside, he towel dries himself enough that he won’t drip water all over the house. The last thing he wants is to ruin Veronica’s house so much that he’ll have to _phone_ her and tell her. That would definitely reduce his chances of coming back here again. And he _really_ wants to.

From the house, he grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and a bag of pizza-flavored Goldfish crackers – arguably the best – because a little writing snack never hurt anyone. He picks up his notebook and speeds back outside.

Betty is back on the sun lounger when he gets there. Sunglasses on, she’s facing the sun, obviously looking to top up her tan. 

While she’s looking the other way, he takes a moment to just… _look_ at her. He feels like a bit of a stalker but goddammit she’s beautiful and he feels so, so lucky to have her in his life even if it is temporary. He’s the luckiest bastard in the world right now.

He clears his throat in order not to scare her with his reappearance. The water and snacks get put on the table, he and the notebook sitting down on the chair next to her. “I brought water if you want it,” he tells her.

She smiles again. She smiles _a lot_ around him. 

It takes him a while to get into writing, but having his muse in front of him helps the words flow.

–

A hard poke in the arm snaps him out of his haze sometime later. Minutes, hours, or days could have passed, he isn’t sure. But when he looks up, not only does he see Betty staring at him, he sees the sun, so he assumes it hasn’t quite been as long as it could’ve been. 

He looks back down at his notebook. Almost 4 letter-sized pages inspired by her. In his quick calculation, that’s around 1200 words. Definitely more than he’s written of his novel. 

A distant part of his brain is thinking _fuck, write your novel, dumbass._ Yet another, possibly less sensible, part is thinking _you’re so gone already._ Which, to be fair, he thinks is true. 

Meeting her eyes again, he can’t help but smile. “What’s up?” he asks.

She shrugs but she’s grinning bashfully. “Bored.”

He laughs. “You interrupted my writing ‘cause you’re bored? Again?”

“Uh-huh. And I seem to remember someone requesting I bring a certain beach ball?”

His eyes light up. Snapping his notebook shut, he jumps up. “C’mon then! What are you waiting for? We’re going back in the pool.”

He watches as she grabs a bottle of water, downing at least half of it. She then pulls her sunglasses off, eyes fixed to his, and reaches behind her. Out of her bag, she gets out a piece of plastic and throws it at him.

“You’re blowing,” she says, smirking.

He holds in a laugh. “Are you trying to kill me? Physically _and_ metaphorically?”

“Yep. Now get on with it.”

He does. He does because even in the few days he’s known Betty Cooper he’s come to realize that he will never be able to say no to her. Nor does he want to. Not when she’s looking at him with a lopsided grin that’s making her eyes crinkle at the sides. Not when she’s looking at him with more affection than he knows what to do with. 

Whilst he empties his lungs into the beach ball, he tries to avoid eye contact with her. Inevitably, it fails. She’s laughing at him, of course, at what he assumes is his red face. He struggles to hold back his own laughter. 

At one point, she raises an eyebrow at him in a suggestive manner and he can’t hold it back anymore. 

In what must be a very attractive way, he bursts out laughing, pulling the ball away from his mouth and spitting everywhere. “Fuck,” he mutters between laughs. “You’re killing me!”

“Is it working?” she chuckles.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, hoping he doesn’t look too gross. It doesn’t escape him that he’s now actively worried about how Betty views him and if he looks _attractive_ in front of her. Okay, so he’s _gone_. He’s on vacation or something.

It takes a minute or so for him to compose himself. “Sorry,” he tells her, but he’s not sure why.

Luckily, she waves it off. “You want me to…?” 

He shakes his head, bringing the piece back up to his mouth. It only takes a few more long breaths to fill it completely, luckily without incidence this time. Once he’s done, he throws the ball at her, surprised when she catches it. 

She thanks him in a more sincere way than he thinks he deserves before double-checking that he’s okay and _not_ about to collapse and die. By the way she asks him, voice gentle, a hand reaching out to caress his arm, he can tell it’s genuine, that she _cares_ despite the jabs and jokes. Not that he ever doubted it. He makes sure to ensure her that he’s _fine_ multiple times.

Once he’s convinced she believes him, he makes a split-second, brave decision. He grabs her hand, the one that was touching his arm, and pulls her up. Much to his surprise and delight, she doesn’t pull away. In fact, she squeezes it, giving him the confidence he needs.

“Come on!” he half-shouts, tugging her along with him as he runs towards the pool. 

She follows, not that she has much choice otherwise, and they jump in, hands clasped together as they splash into the water. Her spare hand was clutching the ball, but that’s now floating off towards the other end.

She looks at him. He looks at her. It’s as if they have the same thought process. 

“Race you,” they both yell at the same time before letting go of one another and splashing their way to the other end of the pool.

Betty gets there first. By some miracle, Jughead is only a second behind, so when she grabs the ball with her wet hands and it goes shooting in the opposite direction, he is there to catch it with a smug grin.

She gasps in disbelief. “You sneaky shit.”

He throws the ball at her head in retaliation, laughing when it bounces off of her and back towards him once more. “Your ball _loves_ me,” he sing-songs. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“Has it taken you this long to realize that?”

All he gets is an over-exaggerated eye-roll in response. 

For a moment, he thinks he and the beach ball are safe, but he is wrong. An energetic Betty launches herself towards him, diving underneath the water. She resurfaces right next to him and grabs the ball without him noticing quick enough. She swims off with it, far enough away from him that he just lets her get away with it.

He’d let her get away with _anything_ , he thinks. 

When he looks over at her, she has a shit-eating grin on her face and she has both hands clutching onto the ball as if it’s her life savior. He laughs at her, shaking his head affectionately. 

“Instead of arguing,” he half-yells, waving his arms in the air, “let’s play.”

So they do. Just like on the beach, they throw the ball back and forth, only this time, there’s a lot more _real_ diving taking place. It’s not like the ball goes underwater or anything, it’s just more fun this way. Having a private pool is more fun than he ever could’ve imagined. 

Lucky Veronica Lodge. And, in that moment, lucky Jughead Jones.

They play like a pair of kids or teenagers until even after his fingertips go wrinkly. It would normally gross him out, but today, it comes in handy when grabbing the slippery ball. 

He feels at ease in the pool. He feels at ease with Betty. They laugh like idiots, splashing, and messing around without a care in the world. He forgets all of his worries, he forgets about his father and Riverdale and just enjoys the moment. 

As the ball flies through the air, he takes a mental note of its color. Red and white, but with the quick movement, it goes a blurry pale pink. He’ll write about it later, he thinks, along with the pattern the sheen of the sun makes on the rippling water.

He’s the first to get tired, but he can tell she is, too. She throws the ball out of the water by accident. It’s his turn, he supposes, to jump out and get it, but he can’t be bothered. Instead, he swims over to her.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” he replies, leaning over the edge of the pool.

She joins him. Their legs bump together and she smiles. “You okay?”

He nods. A bubble of nerves rises up in his throat unexpectedly. He tries to swallow it down, but it stays. He can’t work out why they’re there. “Are you?” She nods, too. 

They’re close now. They’re so close he can see the tiny droplets of water that have gathered on her eyelashes. He can see the specks of green that make her eyes so unique. He can see the wrinkles at the edge from the smile she’s giving him. 

He feels her reach out with the hand that isn’t gripping onto the edge of the pool and gently cup his face. “Jug…” she whispers, eyelashes flickering. 

It’s the first time she’s ever used that nickname. It feels _right_ , though. For him, and he thinks for her as well.

Mirroring her actions, his hand finds her face as he subconsciously moves forward. He wants to close the gap completely, he wants to feel her lips against his. 

He thinks she wants it, too, but he hesitates. 

“Betty?” he murmurs barely loud enough for her to hear. 

She doesn’t reply, not with words at least. In fact, she’s the one to close the minuscule gap between them, pressing her lips against his. He melts into it, basking in the feeling of _her._ Bringing his hand to the back of her head, he pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. 

It makes him see colors he’s not sure exist and the colors that make up the one kissing him. It’s perfect in a way he didn’t think a first kiss could be. Maybe it’s the paradise they’re in, maybe it’s her. Or maybe it’s both. The situation, the girl. Everything about it is perfect.

He’s the first to pull back. He breaths out a sigh, a sigh of relief, he thinks, and rests his forehead against hers, keeping his hand on her and his eyes closed. “Wow,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” she whispers.

When he opens his eyes, hers are open too. He didn’t know it was possible to smile with your eyes until this moment, until seeing hers. _Beautiful,_ he thinks, _so fucking beautiful._

He moves back so he can look at her properly. He wants to ingrain this moment into his memories forever, he wants to be able to never forget. Never forget the way she looks at him, the small smile on her lips, her mouth slightly agape. 

He could put it into words, but he doesn’t think any combination of words in any language would be able to describe this moment. 

Letting out a breathy laugh, he whispers a nervous, “Hi.”

“Hey,” she whispers back, the smile on her lips getting bigger.

“We should get out the pool,” he says even though it’s a stupid thing to say. Stupid but true, he supposes. Stupid because he doesn’t want to leave this moment, he doesn’t want to shatter the haven they seem to have created together. But true because he’s wrinkly, his hair is probably a mess, and he should probably be a better host and feed his guest proper food. 

She nods but makes no effort to move. 

“How about…” he smirks calculatingly, “...we continue this somewhere more comfortable?” In all honesty, he means more kissing, although his words sound a lot more suggestive than that. Her reaction, though, he thinks means she doesn’t mind the idea of the potential suggestion.

She escapes from his grip, bolting through the water like a fish towards the ladder. Why she doesn’t just pull herself out of the side, he doesn’t know, but he’d guess it’s some kind of _messing with you_ game. One he definitely doesn’t mind playing.

So he follows her. Slower, he swims across the pool, climbs up the ladder, and wanders over to where she’s standing just a few feet away. Hands on her hips, she’s grinning. She’s grinning as if she’s about to fuck with him some more, but what she doesn’t know is he’s already _gone_ just from seeing her in that bikini. She doesn’t _need_ to fuck with him to get him to kiss her again.

As he gets closer, she doesn’t move, as he expected. He raises an eyebrow at her. “I thought you were gonna play one of your games.”

She shakes her head.

He takes a step forward. 

She holds her hand out.

He takes it.

“Jughead,” she says.

“Betty,” he replies.

“Please kiss me again.”

So he does. With one more step towards her, he crashes their lips together. One hand grips hers while the other holds onto the base of her neck. Their lips move in tandem, and it’s as if they’d been doing it forever. He feels like he _knows_ her, like she knows _him_.

The reality of just a few days spent together feels inadequate, false. 

They jump apart when his stomach rumbles. His insatiable appetite ruins _everything_.

“Fuck,” he groans, “I’m sorry.” She just laughs. “What’s for dinner then?”

–

Half an hour later, they’re in the massive kitchen, making a mess. 

After her _wow’_ s and _oh my god’_ s at the inside of the house, Betty announced that she isn’t a half-bad cook. And after a rummage around in the cupboards, she decides they should make homemade pizzas for dinner.

So here they are now, both themselves and the kitchen covered in flour. 

“I thought you were a good cook,” Jughead says, brushing flour off of his _black_ t-shirt. 

She shrugs. “Good, but not tidy.” “Now I’m gonna have to vacuum,” he whines, “and I’m on vacation!”

She grins, skipping towards him. “It’ll be worth it,” she tells him, proving it by pressing a chaste kiss against his lips. 

He grins back. _Yeah,_ he thinks, _you’re probably right_.

As expected, she is right. Although he’s inclined to believe that Veronica nor his clothes would agree. 

On top of the flour, now, is tomato juice and seeds. Why they couldn’t use the squeezy tube of tomato puree from the refrigerator, he doesn’t know. Instead, Betty has him chopping tomatoes and garlic and _actually_ cooking while she quote-unquote ‘supervises’ and grates cheese. Mostly, he decides, she wants to watch him squirm.

In the end, after he’s ensured the cheese is the best possible quality (okay, he just eats a lot of it), the pizzas are ready for the oven.

If he were a proper adult, he’d probably suggest using the ten-to-twelve-minute cooking time to tidy. Alas, he is not. So they spend the time exploring each other’s mouths while he has her pressed against the undoubtedly thousands of dollars sofa in the lounge. 

It’s a position he’d like to find himself in more often, even if he doesn’t think Veronica would approve of him defacing her couch. Scrap that. He _knows_ she wouldn’t like it, but she’d enjoy teasing him about it. 

Who’s to say she has to know, though? 

Or, at least, for the time being. 

He’ll tell her eventually. He can’t keep secrets from her. She’s like that bugging sister who knows something is wrong or different before anyone else and will force it out of him despite his best efforts. 

The timer Betty sets on her phone very rudely interrupts them just as his hand makes it into her still-damp hair. He climbs off of her with an overexaggerated frown.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Food first.”

“Food first,” he agrees albeit hesitantly. 

They eat outside. He positions the chairs so they’re facing the beach, watching the slow descent of the sun. It’s a view he’ll never tire of, and nor is the one of the woman sitting next to him.

As expected, the pizza is incredible. It’s better than the expensive frozen one he usually favors, and the homemade sauce is worth all the effort. Maybe he’ll have to start cooking, especially if _someone_ is willing to teach him during his month here.

He looks over at her and smiles. “Everything about this is amazing,” he says.

She meets his eyes. “Yeah. It’s a good recipe.”

He shakes his head. “Not the pizza. Well, yeah, the pizza is amazing, but… this, here, you. Everything.” In response, she sends him a toothy smile. 

So he kisses her. He leans over the small gap between their chairs and connects their lips. He kisses her with everything he’s got because, in that moment, he can’t help but feel _everything_. And he wants her to. 

She sighs when they part. A contented kind of sigh, paired with another smile. “Thank you.” _What for?_ he wants to ask. Instead, he just shrugs. 

They finish their pizza in relative silence, watching the sunset. It’s romantic, really, whether or not they mean it to be. Jughead wants it to be, but is it? Can it be? He doesn’t know.

Later, once the sun has set, he invites her back inside. 

“...or I, uh, I understand if you need to go home. I’d like you to stay, but, um, you– I can walk you home or…” He’s rambling but he can’t seem to stop himself. He’s nervous, he realizes, she makes him nervous.

“Jug,” she interrupts. “I want to stay.”

–

Betty stays the night. By accident.

It starts off innocently enough. They decide on watching a movie, so of course, Jughead offers to make popcorn. He’d somehow forgotten about the mess they’d made in the kitchen so he quickly vacuums while Betty does the washing up. (She’d insisted.) Then the popcorn gets made, and they settle onto the sofa, ready to watch a movie.

They argue about that. Betty wants to watch something romantic like _P.S. I Love You_ , but Jughead’s feeling something… heavier, like _IT._ In the end, neither wins, and they decide on a rerun of something they’ve both already seen.

He nudges her with his elbow halfway through her spiel about why they should watch her choice. “Hey… how much _watching_ are we going to, uh, actually be doing?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh shit. Good point.”

He grins. “So, what have you seen before?”

“Brooklyn Nine-Nine.”

“Brilliant.” He scrolls through Netflix – a part of Veronica’s hospitality – playing the very first episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

Within ten minutes, the bowl of popcorn between them has been pushed onto the floor. A distant thought of _fuck, more cleaning_ flashes in the back of his brain, but then Betty’s tongue traces the seam of his lips and he doesn’t care nor remember anymore. 

She’s climbing on top of him, her skimpy see-through dress _thing_ not leaving anything to the imagination. He thinks he might actually die on the spot. She’s just… so goddamn amazing.

“Betty,” he pants, letting his head fall back onto the sofa. “My _god_.”

She grins, pushing her hair out of her face. “You okay?” “Okay? Fuck.”

“Me, too.”

He pulls her down to kiss her again, reveling in the feeling of her. Everything _her._ Her lips, her tongue, her hands, her body. He could lose himself in her forever. 

They kiss for some time while Netflix cycles onto the second episode in the background. Jughead wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the intro song blasting out, his hands too busy tangled in the hair of the woman on top of him. He doesn’t flinch at the noise, just some part of his brain registers it.

Eventually, they start shedding their clothes, so he makes the executive decision to turn the TV off. He wriggles out from under her and stands up, dressed only in his swim shorts. He fumbles for the remote while simultaneously trying not to die right there and then before holding out his hand. “Upstairs?” he asks almost shyly.

She takes his hand. “I want to make some sarcastic comment about wanting to see the rest of this house, but really, I want to see stars.” 

“Oh my god,” he groans, tugging her up. “That is both the best and worst thing you’ve ever said.” Giggling, she shrugs. “Lead the way.” He does. 

They make it to his room with only little incident. He has to stop just twice to push her against the wall and he’s quite happy with his self-control at this point. Once inside his room, it doesn’t take long for the rest of their clothes to come off. Sarcastic comments quickly turn into sounds of pleasure.

–

Later, they fall into bed together, he in only boxers and her in one of his t-shirts. They’re cuddled up under the covers, basking in the afterglow and the coolness of the aircon. 

“That was… nice,” she whispers.

He gently strokes her hair. “Nice?” he chuckles.

She hums. “Yeah. Nice.” “Nice enough to do it again?” She glances up at her, smirking. “I suppose that can be arranged.” Unable to resist, he leans down to kiss her again. He smiles into it, thinking to himself that he could do this forever.

“You’re good at that,” she mutters against his lips.

“So are you.”

They kiss lazily for some time. There’s no intent to it, just enjoying each other in the darkness of his room. She’s right, though, it is _nice._ It’s nice to feel… appreciated, he thinks. It’s nice to have that affection. 

When they pull away, a wave of tiredness crashes over him and he yawns. 

“How can someone be cute when they yawn?” she asks, amusement in her voice.

He smiles, feeling himself blush. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me cute.”

“What do they normally call you?”

“I’d have to ask my very long list of ex-girlfriends.” He hopes the sarcasm in his voice comes out above the sleepiness. He does not in fact have a long list of ex-girlfriends. Two at best, but one barely counted. A two-month relationship with a girl he didn’t really like and a girl he hooked up with twice. Both in college. Not exactly dream-ex material. Not exactly people who thought highly of him, either.

She shuffles around so she’s facing him. “I’d rather answer myself.” She traces along his jaw with her finger. “Cute… Handsome… _Hot_ … Funny… Good in bed…” She pauses to press a kiss against his lips. “Good in the _pool_.”

He groans but can’t keep a grin off of his face. “I’m too tired to get worked up again.”

“Maybe in the morning,” she murmurs.

“Does that mean you’re gonna stay?” He can just about make out her nod in the darkness of the room. 

“For the record,” he says slowly and quietly, “I think you’re cute, too.”

She lets out a breathy laugh before moving her head to rest on his chest. 

The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is a whispered _goodnight, Jug_ , putting a smile on his face for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!i hope you enjoyed this! let me know your thoughts please :')


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chat with Toni and a morning with Bughead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (please note the rating change👀)

After their first night together, Betty somehow worms her way into Jughead’s life on vacation. It’s not, like it may sound, bad. In fact, it’s incredible. They spend their every waking – and sleeping – minutes together, so much so that he forgets he hasn’t known her forever. It feels that way. It feels like they grew up together, inseparable then, just like they are now. Time, he thinks, doesn’t matter. When there’s a connection, it’s just right.

Jughead of a few weeks ago would have disagreed. Jughead in Seaside with Betty, however, believes anything is possible.

To think he and Betty are, well, _right_ is a scary thought for him, though. As much as he genuinely does believe it in some capacity, he can’t ignore the fact that he has a life back in Riverdale and she has one here. He’s only here for a month. Every second they spend together is time well spent, but that time is still limited. 

A month. A month isn’t long enough, he decides. Maybe it’s too much, maybe he’s jumping the gun, but he wants to spend _forever_ with her. She’s made him feel more in the past few days than anyone has in his whole life. 

But he’s confused. It’s only a month. A summer fling of sorts. Their paths cross for a short time. A short time for them to enjoy, not wallow in the impending doom of the future. He should simply _enjoy_ this month with her.

He can’t let it go, though. 

He wants to ask her about it, but how can he? Even once a week together has passed, how can he turn around and go “hey, I know this is just a fling while I’m on vacation but I think I really like you and I don’t want to let you go, so what do you think?”? Yeah, he can’t.

He can, however, ask someone else.

The first person to come to mind is Veronica. His best friend slash faux sister, she’s amazing at advice. She is a bit of a gossip, but if he asked her not to say anything, she definitely wouldn’t. She’d be the best person to ask… if he weren’t in her beach house on the grounds that he writes his novel while he’s here.

So not Veronica.

He cycles through his admittedly short list of friends and lands on Toni. Toni is one of his friends from college. She’s nice, detached from both Riverdale and Veronica, and would be perfect at advice.

So a week into his vacation, just under a week into his _whatever_ with Betty, she’s popped home for a while, leaving him with what should’ve been writing time but turned into overthinking time, he rings Toni.

She picks up on the fifth ring. “Jones! To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” 

Typical Toni. She knows he’d never ring her out of the blue, as does he know neither would she. They’re more background friends than anything, but they’re there when the other needs them.

“Hey. Have you got a minute?” “‘Course. What’s up?” He paces around the kitchen as he speaks, keeping an eye on the window in case Betty comes back sooner than expected. He tells her about his vacation, about Veronica’s house, about how incredible it is. And then he tells her about Betty. “She’s amazing, Toni, but I’ve only known her for, like, a week. That’s stupid, right?”

“Fuck it,” Toni says. “Who cares if you’ve only known her for a week? Make the most of your time together.”

He sighs. “But what about after? What about when I have to leave?”

“If it’s real, you make it work.” She makes it sound so simple. 

“And if it isn’t?”

“You would’ve had a great month.” He laughs this time. He laughs because she’s right. “I guess.”

“You’re young, Jug. Live your life.”

Smiling to himself, he lets her words resonate with him. He is young. He’s 24, single, on _fucking_ vacation. He needs to allow himself to enjoy this time. The rest… Well, he’ll face that when it comes down to it.

“Toni?”

“Yeah?” “What will Veronica think?” She chuckles. “She’ll be happy for you, but don’t think she won’t give you hell for it.” She pauses. “Maybe wait until you get back to tell her.” 

“Good plan.”

They bid goodbye to each other, and Jughead makes a silent promise to himself to ring Toni more often. She’ll deserve an update once he’s back in Riverdale, at least.

–

Inevitably, he takes Toni’s advice. 

When he sees Betty at the bottom of the steps, he jogs outside to meet her. He greets her with a kiss, hooking his arm around her waist as he bends her backward slightly. The smile she has plastered across her face makes him think his _feelings_ or whatever aren’t so… unrequited. 

Maybe unrequited is the wrong word. She obviously feels _something_ towards him, he realizes that, or she wouldn’t keep coming back. Whether that’s purely sexual, he doesn’t know, but the way she kisses him back suggests otherwise. Or maybe he’s just hopeful.

They spend the day messing around again. It’s much like any other day. They play in the pool, they make food together, she sunbathes while he tries to write. His novel gets mostly abandoned, even though in the back of his mind he remembers that _deal_ he has with Veronica. Fighting back, though, is a voice in his head that distinctly sounds like Toni’s. So the novel doesn’t get written, but short pieces about the colors that make up everything about Betty and everything about his temporary home do.

Everything they do now is paired with kisses. Whether that be stolen ones, secretive ones, or intentful ones, they creep into the routine they’ve created together. 

Betty stays more nights than not. She curls up next to him, her head gently resting on his chest. It quickly becomes his favorite position, one hidden in the black darkness of his room between only them. 

The days fly by. Jughead learns more and more about her every day and every day he falls a bit harder. It’s stupid, he thinks, to fall for a girl he might never see again in a few weeks, but he just can’t help it. He can’t help the way her colors seep into his otherwise black and white world. 

It’s been ten days together. Ten amazing days spent in the sunshine and with Betty. She’s stayed the night again, so when he wakes up earlier than usual, he finds her wrapped up in him. 

His mind drifts forward in time where this is their forever. A few years’ time, maybe, when their relationship has moved into the so-called serious phase and they’ve saved enough money to buy a house similar to Veronica’s. It’ll have to be smaller, he decides, but he likes the style, the modernity, the position. The beach view is incredible, although he wonders if they’d have to compromise on something like that. In an ideal world, they wouldn’t. 

In an ideal world, he’d have Betty by his side forever.

He never thought the world was all that ideal, but he’s beginning to change his mind. 

He lets her sleep in for a bit as he lays as still as possible, other than his hand gently stroking her hair. He loves waking up before her. It’s silent outside, other than the soft crashing of the waves that act as a comforting sort of white noise. He listens to the waves, to her soft breathing, and feels alive in the moment. He feels truly alive. 

She begins stirring around half an hour later. He can’t help but smile to himself as she rolls towards him, eyes fluttering open.

“Good morning,” he whispers. 

Her eyes droop closed momentarily, but she smiles at him.

His hand moves to trace her jawline. “You’re beautiful,” he tells her. 

When she looks at him, she’s blushing. Her voice is croaky and thick with sleep when she says, “Morning.”

He chuckles, pulling her closer into his chest and pressing a kiss atop her head.

They stay like that for some time, listening to the sea and basking in the feeling of being together.

Betty’s the first to break the silence. “Can we go swimming?”

He shuffles around to face her. “Like, now?”

She nods.

“Pool or sea?” She contemplates it for a second. “Why not both?”

Part of him wants to say no, but as he has learned recently, he cannot say no to Betty Cooper. Nor does he ever _really_ want to. 

So he doesn’t.

They’re up and ready within ten minutes. Jughead puts on his swimming trunks and forgoes a t-shirt while Betty pulls herself into her navy bikini. He can’t help but grin at the sight of her, stepping forward to connect their lips.

With a giggle, she pulls back, stopping him from deepening the kiss. “C’mon, you,” she says, poking him in the chest.

He groans in defeat. _“Fine.”_

They go in the pool first. Betty cannonballs in and Jughead attempts a dive that turns into a belly flop. She laughs at him, so he gets her back by splashing water in her direction. They laugh together then, and inevitably it turns into a splash fight. A splash fight that ends in him catching her and kissing her so she stops. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she says but she’s smiling.

He kisses up her jaw, whispering in her ear, “I think you like it.”

She hums in reply, so he meets her lips again, pushing her against the side of the pool. 

“If morning swims mean this,” he says in between kisses, “then can we swim every morning?”

She swats him away just as he begins descending from her collarbone. _“Yes_ , but actual swimming first.”

“You’re trying to kill me.”

Grinning, she nods and swims away from him.

Some actual swimming does get done. Somehow. It’s nice, though, and it reminds Jughead of his first morning here. He feels like he can finally understand why people get up and exercise first thing, although he knows he isn’t going to start taking up _running_ back in Riverdale. So, if he’s honest, it isn’t the exercise, it’s this place. And Betty, of course. 

In the back of his head, he wonders what other types of, uh, _exercise_ is good in the mornings. He wonders if he’ll get to find out.

First, though, they head over to the sea. 

Shoes abandoned by the gate, they run across the sand towards the sea. Despite making it more difficult to run, their hands are clasped together, stretched across the gap between them. 

Their feet splash through the water as they run into the sea. The coolness runs over both of them as they wade deeper, giggling as they go.

“I love the sea,” Betty says as the water reaches her waist.

Jughead looks over at her, grinning. “Me too. I wish I lived near the sea.”

She moves towards him, bumping their arms together. “Move here.”

He sighs, then chuckles. “I’d love to.”

She leans up to kiss him. “One day,” she mutters against his lips.

One day. He likes the sound of that. One day gives him the promise of more, and he likes the promise of more.

Their time in the sea is spent in a less energetic way than the pool. Betty seems happy to float around and enjoy the sun, and if that’s what she wants, Jughead is more than happy to give it to her.

Clinging to one another, he realizes how much they must look like _that_ couple. The one who can’t bear to be more than six feet apart, even when in the sea. Maybe they look like they’re on vacation together. Their first vacation as a couple, or one of many over years of happiness together.

The reality, although far from what it looks like, is just as good. It’s just as good because despite what it could be, the promise of _one day_ rings in his head. 

They kiss slowly, wrapped up in each other below the surface of the water. She tastes salty from the sea, but also distinctly Betty. It’s one he’s learned more and more as the days go by, and it’s one he’s addicted to already. The saltiness only enhances that addiction.

He pulls back, leaning his forehead against hers. His arms are wrapped around her waist and her legs tangled around his. “This is nice,” he mumbles.

“It is,” she says, drawing out the second syllable. “But you know what would be _nicer?”_

He smirks. “I have some idea.”

She leans in to kiss him again, her tongue skimming the seam of his lips almost immediately. He lets her deepen the kiss, momentarily forgetting their whereabouts until a wave crashes onto his back.

“Fuck.”

She grins, untangling her legs from his. 

Grabbing her hand, he begins leading her back to the shore. 

“Where are we going?” she asks, teasing lilt to her voice.

“I really need a shower.”

–

A double shower, as it turns out, is very, _very_ useful. Sure, it’s great to have extra space to move around when you’re washing your hair or, uh, you know, shower dancing. But of course, the best use is when you have a beautiful blonde to join you.

Which Jughead does.

Somehow.

By some miracle. 

He tries to make a mental note to thank Veronica at some point after he’s broken the news to her and another to see about getting a shower like this fitted in his own apartment. But Betty starts sucking on his neck, distracting him beyond belief, so obviously that’s more important. 

Her lips work magic, he thinks as she re-attaches them to his. 

She pushes him against the tiles, the steady stream of warm water falling over them taking the edge off the coldness on his back. Not that he cares to notice with the way she’s nibbling along his jaw. 

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back against the wall. It makes a slight cracking noise, making Betty stop so he pulls her closer and wiggles against her. “Don’t stop.”

She continues. 

Eyes rolled into the back of his head, he can feel her suck a mark into his neck. She soothes it with her tongue before continuing her descent, kissing down his body. If he’s got the right end of the stick, he’s about to die. He’s about to die in the shower with the girl of his dreams on her knees.

When he opens his eyes, that’s exactly where she is. 

She kisses along his thigh, getting closer and closer to where he wants her. Pausing, she looks up at him with wide eyes and a smirk on her face. “Can I?”

_You can do anything_ sits on the tip of his tongue, but his brain can’t work out how to get the words to come out so he just nods. 

So she gives him what he wants. 

And _fuck_. 

He’s either halfway to death or in actual heaven, he can’t quite decide. But her mouth is warm and moves expertly around him while her hands have a strong grip on his thighs. His moans and groans echo off of the walls, the pleasure overwhelming. He’s on the edge within minutes, so he tangles his fingers in her hair and tugs her off.

Looking up at him from her knees almost sends him over the edge in itself. Her eyes are blown, lips swollen, droplets of water covering her. 

And okay, now he _is_ dead. 

“Do you want me to stop?” she asks, licking her lips, licking _him_ off her lips. 

He nods but he says, “No,” and she giggles, running her thumb across his tip. “Okay,” he breathes, tugging on her hair again, “come back up here.”

She does. And she kisses him, her tongue immediately finding its way into his mouth. There’s that distinct lingering saltiness mixed with the taste of himself which only serves to turn him on even more.

He’s panting into her mouth and he can’t focus on kissing her properly. His brain can barely register the water beating down on them, but somehow it’s still warm. It’s still warm, too warm that his hand fumbles around to turn the dial down.

He must knock something over because she’s pulling back. “What you doing?” he whines. 

“I could ask you the same question.” 

If his brain could form coherent sentences right now, that’d be useful. “Hot.”

She smirks. “You _are_.”

Taking a deep breath, he manages to roll his eyes at her while he turns the heat down. It helps to clear his mind a little, too, so he reaches up with both of his hands to cup her face and pull her towards him until he’s kissing her as thoroughly as possible and her body is against his. 

“Jesus,” she groans into his mouth, “do _something_.”

Mirroring her actions from earlier, he begins kissing down her neck, down her chest, making sure to pay attention to her breasts, until _he’s_ on his knees. He gently pushes her against the tiles in an attempt to make it easier for her to balance. 

He brings his hand up to capture hers as he kisses everywhere _except_ where she wants him the most. Moving her hand with his, he places it on his head and looks up at her. “Don’t fall,” he warns.

She lets out a shaking sigh and nods.

With her consent, he moves his tongue to where she so desires. 

She comes with two of his fingers pushed inside of her and her hand tangled in his hair.

Groaning when he kisses her, he can’t help but grin into it. He feels like the luckiest man on the planet right now, yet somehow, he still wants more.

So does Betty. 

Her hand trails down his body until she’s close enough to tease him. “Want you,” she says, gently moving her hand up and down as she kisses his shoulder. “Want you inside me.”

_“Yes,”_ he groans.

They find a position that works both logistically, with no falling over, and for pleasure. And boy does it feel good. Being inside her will always feel good, he thinks. No, scrap that, it feels incredible. Running the risk of sounding cliche, part of him thinks they could’ve been made for one another. Two pieces of a puzzle. 

He sees stars when he comes. He comes inside of her, no condom, just like before, but somehow it feels even better. He briefly wonders if it’ll feel better every time, and he hopes he gets to find out.

The noises she makes, the colors he sees, the way she feels as she comes around him. He thinks he has enough inspiration from her to last a lifetime.

After, with still-warm water – thanks to Veronica, no doubt – he rubs shampoo into her hair and body wash onto her skin. It’s a gesture filled with affection, one that she returns once he’s finished. They share gentle kisses under the running water until all of the sweat and seawater are washed off. 

Stepping out first, he hands her a towel and offers her a hand to help her out. She takes it with a smile, pressing what feels like a _thank you_ kiss against his cheek. 

–

Dressed and downstairs, Jughead leaves his hair damp and messy in exchange for making Betty breakfast while she sorts her own hair out. Yeah, he’s _cooking_. Actual cooking.

He’d heard from a good source – a late-night conversation about food that led to her mumbling about her appreciation for crepes before falling asleep on his chest – that one of Betty’s favorite breakfast foods is crepes. 

Now he’s never made crepes before but he has made pancakes, so he guesses they can’t be too different. The internet serves as a brilliant place for a recipe that he quickly whips up without too many issues. That rests in the refrigerator, leaving him with time to prep some toppings. 

Just as he’s slicing a strawberry into four, he hears the tell-tale signs of someone wandering up behind him. Sure enough, a pair of arms are wrapped around his waist, a head resting on his shoulder bone.

“What you making?” she hums.

He puts the knife down and spins around in her arms. “Crepes. Well, the toppings.”

Her face lights up. “You’re making me crepes?”

He nods shyly. “I’m trying. The batter is resting, so you might have to help me cook them off.” “You’re amazing,” she says before kissing him, deeply and thoroughly. 

When they pull back, he’s grinning, a blush covering his face. “So are you, Betty.”

She kisses him again and he can’t help but think _this is more than just a summer fling._

The crepes, as it is, turn out surprisingly good. Betty is somewhat of an expert, so she teaches him how to flip them in the frying pan. Only one goes on the floor, and luckily none on the ceiling, so once all of the batter is used up, they sit at the extravagant table with an array of toppings. 

Betty loads hers up with a healthier selection: strawberries, blueberries, banana, and a small dollop of whipped cream. Jughead, on the other hand, has chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate. He must admit, though, he does not regret it in the slightest. 

“Nice?” he says through a huge mouthful.

She nods. “You’re not a half-bad chef, you know that?”

He swallows down his bite just in time to laugh. “If by chef you mean _using the internet for a recipe and getting your girlfr–”_ he coughs in a poor attempt to cover up his mistake “–uh, I mean, _getting someone else to do the cooking_ , then yes.”

She blinks, her fork suspended in mid-air. “What did you just say?” Nervously laughing, he runs his fingers through his drying hair. It’s knotty, and they get stuck, so he has to tug on it, which does nothing to calm his rising nerves. “Nothing.”

The noise of the fork hitting the plate cuts through the tension between them.

“Betty say something,” he stammers, “please say something.”

She looks over at him, an unreadable expression on her face. After a moment, she meets his eyes and smiles bashfully. “You… you want me to be your girlfriend?”

“I mean, yeah,” he admits in a small voice.

In quick succession, she leans over the table, pulls him towards her by the hem of his t-shirt, and kisses him. She kisses him hard, like she really means it. “I’d love to be your girlfriend,” she says as she sits back down.

He can’t help but grin. “Really? Even though I won’t be here for–”

“Don’t,” she interrupts, voice gentle but firm. “I want to make it work.”

“Me too, but Betty, are you _sure?”_

She giggles. “I can kiss you again if you aren’t convinced.”

Pretending to think for a moment, he hums. “That could help.”

The crepes are abandoned until Jughead is _really_ convinced. She makes sure to kiss him over and over, but in the end, he doesn’t mind them cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they really be going for it now huh? 
> 
> i hope you're enjoying this!! only 2 chapters left now, so we're getting there. let me know your thoughts and feelings in the form of comments and kudos and i thank you for reading.
> 
> until next time


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beaches, photographs, and discussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eee chapter five!! enjoy!!

When Jughead made a promise to himself to make use of every room in this rather extravagant house, he meant for writing. Each room has a different view, unique and amazing in its own way. He thought he’d be able to get inspiration from each one, make the most of Veronica’s hospitality while keeping up his end of the deal.

He didn’t expect his promise to be fulfilled with his girlfriend. 

_(His girlfriend!)_

He didn’t expect the promise to be fulfilled with his girlfriend in various positions. 

He makes the most of Veronica’s hospitality, he makes the most of each room and every view, just not for the, uh, _intended_ purpose. It’s definitely a better use though, he decides as he looks out to the sea while Betty is on her knees between his legs in the office.

Out of every room in the house, his favorite, by far, has to be the bathroom. It’s the one they make the most use out of, even more than the bedroom. There’s something luxury about the double shower, always-warm water, the soft aftercare portion that he enjoys more than expected. 

The sofa in the living area gets defiled a lot, too, as does the kitchen. It sounds unhygienic, but as he’s come to learn, his insatiable appetite extends beyond food and to his girlfriend. 

_(Oh, hey, we’re waiting for this cake to bake? Let me just…)_

Yeah, his perfect, incredible, every-other-possible-positive-adjective girlfriend can _bake._ Could she get any more amazing?

He’s never felt a desire like it. He wants Betty practically all the time. Maybe it’s the ‘new relationship curse’, as he’s heard Veronica so gracefully call it, or maybe it’s _right._ He hopes it’s right.

A downside to having Betty Cooper as his girlfriend is that he doesn’t get much constructive writing done. This retreat slash vacation was meant to serve as an escape from the tumultuous nature of Riverdale during the summer, a place for him to excel in his writing and _actually_ write the next NYT’s best-seller. Not meet a girl who inspires him more than anything else to write about the colors of her eyes, rather than the serious crime novel he was after. Or… once he gets his shit together, a girl who makes him weak at the knees. 

In other words, he hasn’t been keeping up his end of the deal. 

Which would be fine– okay, _could_ be fine –if he tells Veronica what the fates have thrown at him. She’ll tease him for it, she’ll be fake-pissed, but ultimately, she’ll be happy.

It’s just… he _likes_ having Betty to himself. He’s worried that if he does tell his best friend, she’ll get Smithers to drive her up here himself just so she could meet and assess Betty. She’s protective over him in a way that’s usually quite nice. Protective in a ‘big sister who understands what having a criminal father is like’ kind of way that’s actually managed to keep him safe over the years. No one messes with Veronica Lodge, and therefore no one messes with Jughead Jones. 

But does he want to subject Betty to the wrath that is (sometimes) the over-protective Veronica Lodge? The answer is no.

Not _yet_.

Especially when he remembers that in their years of friendship, he’s never once had a serious enough relationship to _take them home_ , so to speak. Home being the watchful eye of his faux-sister. 

And he _likes_ Betty. He likes her a lot. So while they’re protected here in their safe haven bubble, he decides it’s best to leave it until after he returns home to tell Veronica.

Exactly two weeks into his one month break, she rings him. A check-up of sorts, one disguised in a bundle of small talk

“Jughead, dear, how are you?” Veronica says on the other end of the phone. 

It’s a phone call, just a phone call _thank god._ If she had, by her usual ways, FaceTimed him, he would’ve been screwed. Screwed because there is no way he could have ignored it without raising suspicion and there is no way he could’ve answered it without her seeing a splay of blonde hair over his bare chest.

He quickly sends a thanks to whatever higher power seems to be on his side today. 

“Hey, Veronica,” he answers, “I’m good. How are y–?”

“Good! Now tell me what you’ve been doing!” she half-demands, interrupting him. She does this, interrupting his attempts at turning the conversation onto her. For someone who loves being in the spotlight, she’d much rather talk about other people.

He sighs, slowly stroking Betty’s hair, hoping she doesn’t stir before he gets off the phone. “Veronica, can I ring you back later? I’m just– I’m in the middle of writing a really intense scene.” 

She hums her disapproval. 

“I’m really sorry.”

“I expect full details later, Jughead.”

He laughs. “And you’ll get them.” 

Once they hang up, he groans out loud. He really should get some writing done. Or at least, see if Betty would be up for throwing some ideas around so he has those details Veronica wants. 

As if on cue, Betty’s eyes flutter open.

“Hey,” he whispers, mouth morphing into a smile just at the sight of her.

“Morning,” she croaks back.

“Sorry if I woke you. I would’ve left the room but you looked comfortable.”

She smiles before burying her head back into his chest. “You’re comfortable,” she mutters against his skin. 

He pokes her in the side, so she moves her head to look at him. “And you’re cute.”

She pouts and so he kisses her. A short, soft kiss, just enough to signify everything he’s feeling. All of these feelings bubbling up inside of him, ones he can’t put words to, ones conflicting with the voice in his head that tells him it’s too much, too soon. 

“Who was on the phone?” Betty asks.

“Veronica. She wants a writing update.”

She giggles. “Tell her your hands are too busy to be writing.”

He gasps, feeling a slight blush spread across his face. “Betty Cooper. You are a fiend.” 

With a small shrug, she smiles smugly. “Speaking of…” 

Rolling his eyes, he shifts so he’s leaning over her. “You–” a kiss on her right cheek “–are–” a kiss on her left cheek “–un–” a kiss on the lips “–appeasable.” 

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“You’re on,” he breaths before meeting their lips, only this time he doesn’t move back.

–

It’s a week later when it dawns on Jughead that he leaves in just another week. And there’s nothing he can do to stop or slow down his and Betty’s time together. 

And there’s nothing he can do to stop the wrath of Ms. Lodge when he does inevitably return to Riverdale.

Though all he can do, he supposes, is enjoy the time they do have left.

Every day passes quicker than before. One day, there’s three weeks left, then there’s two, and suddenly, there’s only one. He feels powerless to himself, powerless to Betty, because he knows he can’t change their dwindling time no matter how hard he tries.

His hyper-awareness of time allows him to really savor every minute. 

So when that realization of the final week dawns on him, he tells Betty he plans to make use of every moment. And she seems happy enough to comply.

On that day, they spend it at the beach. They take her stupidly huge inflatable ball and play her version of beach volleyball, just as they did at the start of this crazy vacation. They go back to the diner, too, finishing off their meal with ice cream. Only this time, he treats her. 

She buys a cheap bucket and spade from a tourist shop, telling him about how it’s a British tradition they _have_ to try. They pick a spot on the shore, near enough to the sea that the sand is wet but far enough back to ensure their sandcastle won’t get destroyed with the waves.

“Are you an expert on sandcastles or something?” he asks, watching as she scoops sand into the bucket.

She grins. “Or something.”

“That’s always your response!” he exclaims. “I need to know details, Cooper!”

She gives them, of course, explaining the time her mom insisted she learns about _British seaside culture_. “She thought it was necessary, Jug. My mom is ridiculous.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I thought you were going to tell me you’ve been to England on holiday.”

“I wish. Now, here–” she hands him the spade “–make sure the top is level, and then we flip.”

He does as she says. He feels like a child, consistently looking over at her for reassurance, but honestly, he has no idea what he’s doing. 

They flip it over together. But as it turns out, four hands trying to turn over what is essentially a cube does not work. He abandons ship, leaving her to her expertise. 

Once she succeeds, she says, “Okay, now hit the bucket with the spade.”

“What? Why?”

She shrugs. “Tradition. Magic. I don’t know. It won’t come out otherwise.”

He does as she says. The loud clacking noise attracts the attention of a couple of people sitting nearby.

“And now you can take it off.”

Nodding, he pulls the bucket off slowly. It comes off, which surprises him, eyes widening and mouth dropping slightly. “Wow.”

She giggles, leaning down to inspect their handiwork. “You did a great job, Jug.”

“It was all you,” he says. It comes out more sincere, more genuine than he meant. Like he’s referring to something else, the bigger picture. In a way, he is. It’s relevant to a lot, he thinks. 

They make more sandcastles at his insistence. She builds moats, collecting seawater to put in them, while he builds a village of castles. To the outside world, they probably seem like children, but Jughead couldn’t bring himself to care. Acting like children with Betty is a good use of their time.

Later, once even more sea-front food has been consumed, she announces that she needs to go home.

“Wait,” he says, slightly panicked, “are you not staying tonight?”

Her face softens as she leans in to press a quick kiss against his lips. “Jug, I just need to grab something.”

He nods. “And you’ll be back after?”

She brings a hand up to cup his face. “Of course.”

He leans into her touch. _I love you_ , he thinks. _Is three weeks enough time to fall in love?_

–

Being in the house alone again is a weird sensation. He becomes almost too aware of how quickly he’s gotten used to having another person around, used to having Betty around. It’ll be weird when he does. She won’t be just a few minutes away, he won’t know when – or _if_ – he’ll see her again. 

It’s something, he thinks, that maybe they should discuss properly. A needed conversation, but it won’t make it any easier.

While he is alone, though, he uses the time to do some housework. The menial jobs he should be doing regularly yet just doesn't want to with Betty here. He vacuums the whole of the downstairs, wipes over the worktop, and loads the dishwasher. Enough to warrant a snack.

So he grabs a maple granola bar and can of soda and heads outside. 

Sitting overlooking the beach, he decides to ring Veronica. Maybe he can sweeten her slightly before his inevitable downfall.

She picks up on the second ring. “Don’t tell anyone I said this,” she says by way of a greeting, “but I can’t wait for you to come back.”

“I miss you, too,” he coos sarcastically.

She ignores him, sighing. “Work is so difficult when you don’t have an assistant.”

He scoffs. “You mean _actually working_ is difficult? Aww, poor Veronica having to do her own work.”

“I’m willing to let your sarcasm slide today, Jughead.”

“I expect nothing less.”

Her heels click in the background. “Is this where I’m meant to ask how you are?”

“Probably, but I know small talk isn’t usually your thing.” He rips open the bar and takes a bite. “I just wanted to know what time Smithers will be picking me up next week.” “Are you _eating?_ Why am I surprised?”

He swallows his mouthful. “Yep. Sorry.”

Her eye roll is almost audible. That, or she’s predictable. “You’re not. Anyway, whenever you want.”

_Interesting_. “Okay. Well, I’ll probably want to make the most of the last day so…” He trails off, getting distracted by how exactly he’ll spend that day.

Veronica hums half-suspiciously. “I’ll tell him 7.”

“Perfect.”

Pleased with himself already, he also manages to steer the conversation away from any novel chatter. Perks of Veronica being busy, he thinks. As they chat, he finishes eating and pops open his soda, watching for Betty in the distance. 

He spots her after around fifteen minutes of chatter.

“Look, Veronica, I’ve got to go.”

“Hmm?” There’s beeping in the background. “Oh, right, sure. Talk soon.” And then she puts the phone down.

“Huh,” he says to himself, watching as Betty skips along the sand. She’s smiling to herself, a bag swung over her shoulder, and he can’t stop a smile from spreading across his face, too. He’s gone already, so fucking gone.

Hopping down the steps, he opens the gate just as she comes to a stop. 

“Oh! Hey.”

He greets her with a kiss, hands cupping her face. They part seconds later with a pop, huge grins on both of their faces.

“That was a nice greeting,” she says, allowing him to take her hand and lead her up the steps.

“Is it too much to say I missed you?”

She shrugs. “I missed you, too. But… I brought you something.”

He stops on the top step and turns around. “What did you,” he trails off as she pulls out a book from her bag.

“It’s some of my photography.” 

“Oh,” he grins, “let’s take this inside.”

And so they do. Jughead insists he makes popcorn to eat while Betty takes him through some of her work. As he’s waiting for the microwave to ding, he thinks about how endearing it is that she has a printed collection of her own photography. When he asked to see some of her work, he was expecting a USB or a hard drive, but there’s something so uniquely _Betty_ in printing them.

Something he _loves_.

The loud microwave beep drags him out of that spiral before it begins.

He dumps the popcorn into a big bowl, throwing various toppings on. The flavor of choice has led to a multitude of disagreements over the course of their relationship so far. Betty likes what he’d called the gourmet stuff, like _aged white cheddar_ , whereas he prefers life’s simple choices, a small sprinkling of sugar. 

After many an argument, they manage to agree on the sweet and salty combination. Lashings of salted butter – the good kind Veronica has left in the refrigerator – and a generous helping of sugar. 

And actually, Jughead thinks the added saltiness of the butter really tips it over the edge as his new favorite. But he won’t admit that to Betty.

Taking the bowl with him, he wanders over to the sofa, collapsing next to where Betty is sitting, her book of photography waiting on her lap. He takes a handful of popcorn, shoving it in his mouth, before he offers her the bowl.

She takes it from him and puts it on the coffee table. “You and your food,” she says, a distinct fondness in both her voice and her eyes. 

Smiling, he leans into her, a wave of sleepiness crashing over him. She’s _comfortable_. “Show me your work, baby,” he murmurs, letting the pet name slip out without realizing. When he does realize just a second later, his eyes go wide and he forces out a, “Sorry.”

“I like it.”

He reluctantly moves his head off and looks up at her. “Really?”

She nods. 

He grins. “Duly noted.”

He notices her eyes drop to his lips as she swallows thickly. Before he knows it, she’s closed the gap between them, her hand gently pinching his chin as her lips move against his. The kiss doesn’t progress further than a display of affection when words fail, with them parting after a minute or so.

“Show me what you got,” he says with a smile. He’s always smiling around her, but he just can’t help it. Gesturing to the book, he shuffles around so he’s sitting upright, crossed-legged on the sofa, ready to pay full attention.

When she wordlessly opens it up to the first page, he finds himself grateful for the color-printed photos. The impact of seeing them laid out in front of him like this is greater than he could’ve expected, the color practically jumping out the page.

He can say only one word: “Wow.”

Careful not to touch any of the photos themselves, his finger ghosts across the page. This first page is filled with ones of the very beach outside his window, all taken during the day, the sun a feature in every single one. 

The beach is beautiful enough in person, he thinks, but Betty has somehow managed to capture that beauty and make it even more incredible. 

There’s one in particular that captures all of his favorite parts of this place: the colors and the contrast between them all. Every beach has similar colors, but the ones of this mirror Betty and mirror a distinct happiness he feels when looking at them. The photo recreates this, showing the tranquility he never wants to leave. 

His finger lingers in it. “Betty I love it.”

She doesn’t say anything. She moves the book to his lap and turns the page, shuffling around until she hugs his arm and leans her head on his shoulder, watching him.

The next page consists of different views of the beach. Looking inland from the sea, with the parade of shops acting as the centerpiece; a view directly along the shore, sea one side, sand on the other, and one from higher up. Jughead recognizes this as the view from Veronica’s house.

“Hey is this–” he cuts himself off and instead points to the photo.

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s from the first day I came here. Completed my collection of different angles.”

“Wow.”

He thumbs through another four pages, amazed at what she has produced. Every photo is unique in its own right, he notices, different from what he’s seen before and different from each other. Before, when she told him she liked capturing moments, he wasn’t fully sure he understood. Now he’s seen what she sees, he gets it. He really gets it.

Closing the book, he finds himself staring into space, just thinking. He can feel her head on his shoulder still and her arms wrapped around his. He can feel her physically touching him, and some part of him feels emotionally closer to her, too. Like she’s bared a piece of her soul to him.

A piece of her soul that he can’t help but adore, that he can’t help but _love_. 

His head is spinning, spiraling with the implications of this word that keeps popping up. He’s not sure he knows what true love feels like, but whatever he is feeling right now is different from what he’s felt before. 

_It’s just a fling,_ he tells himself, _it’s just a stupid summer fling._

Deep down, he knows it isn’t.

He pushes the book off his lap and onto the coffee table. He can feel Betty shift slightly, so he turns around to face her. “Can I talk to you about something?” he whispers, his eyes dropping to the ground.

“Sure.”

He takes a deep breath. “So I leave in a week.” She nods, eyes fixed on him as if she’s studying his face. 

“What’s…” He sighs. “I know you said you wanted to make it work, but we never discussed, I don’t know, logistics.”

“Okay…” She takes his hand in hers. “Jughead, in case it wasn’t obvious, I really like you. I–” her voice catches in her throat “– _really_ like you.”

He interrupts her. “I really like you, too.”

She lets out a breathy laugh. “We can do long distance.”

“Long distance?”

“Yeah. Like, see each other on weekends. You can come here, stay with me if you can’t use this place, or I can stay with you. Or–” She stops. “What?”

He’s smiling. He’s smiling because it seems like she’s been thinking about this, too, so now he feels like less of a stupid idiot for being head over heels for a girl he hasn’t even known a month. 

Tangling his hand into her hair, he pulls her forward, crashing his lips against hers. “You’re amazing,” he mumbles between kisses. 

When he pulls back, she’s grinning, too. 

_“You’re_ amazing,” she counters.

He laughs. “By the way, I looked it up and Greendale is roughly halfway.” “Crappy motels and cheap bus tickets it is, then.”

“Hey, did I ever tell you that I ride a motorbike?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe we're almost at the end of this fic. just one more chapter to go and i think it's a good one. 
> 
> in the meantime, i hope you enjoyed chapter four. let me know your thoughts in the form of comments if you so desire. 
> 
> thank you & see you soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh so we've reached the end! enjoy this final chapter and final glance into betty and jughead's lives

“So when can I read it?” Veronica asks, the clicking of her heels as she paces around serving only as to piss Jughead off.

He needs to stall, he realizes. He needs to stall but his phone is vibrating in his pocket, no doubt with a reply from Betty, so now he can’t think straight, his brain only working to wonder what she’s saying. 

The clicking stops, and he looks up to Veronica staring at him, arms crossed. 

“Earth to Jughead?” she sing-songs. 

His brain has gone blank. All of the excuses he and Betty thought up during the final few days of his vacation have just… disappeared. 

“You see, the thing is,” he begins to babble, “I, uh, well–” he rubs the back of his neck, finger catching in his hair “–um, something–” He cuts himself off with a sigh. Veronica’s intense gaze is not helping him right now, nor is the series of text messages that keep coming through. He puts his hand up, using the other to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Hold on.”

_You can just tell her, you know._

_If that’s what you want._

_She’ll find out sooner or later._

Attached is a screenshot of a receipt. A receipt for a bus ticket from Seaside to Riverdale this coming Friday. 

Completely forgetting about Veronica’s existence in the same room as him, he grins at his screen as he types out his response. 

_I can’t wait, Betts. It’s only been a few days but I miss you already._

“Is Jughead Jones _smiling?”_ Veronica exclaims loudly. “At his phone, no less.”

His face immediately drops. “No,” he murmurs, locking his phone but leaving it on his lap.

“Yes you were,” she says with a grin, moving her hands to rest on her hips. “Ooh! Do tell!”

She’s distracted from the writing now, which is good, but distracted _by_ Jughead’s very telling face, which is less good. He has an awful poker face, let alone when he’s getting text messages from his girlfriend. 

And just as another one lights up his phone – which, stupidly, is faceup – Veronica steps towards him. In what can only be described as a telling move, he snatches his phone away and out of view.

She gasps. “You’re so hiding something!” 

“No.” Except he’s lying, and when it’s to someone who has known him for as long as and as well as Veronica, he does not stand a chance. Bad poker face, crappy liar, only smiles occasionally. All the signs add up.

“Yes, you are! Oh my god!” 

Her enthusiasm at even the _thought_ of a secret reminds him exactly why he hasn’t told her yet. He loves Veronica, he really does, but she can be a bit… overbearing. She always means well, there’s never a question of that, it’s just _how_ she goes about things. And he’s seemingly gotten used to his new relationship being _just_ him and Betty. He’s not sure he’s ready for that to change.

He sneaks a look at the message, trying his hardest not to grin. 

_Maybe this will help you decide_ , it reads. Attached is an image, a selfie of Betty in his favorite navy bikini of hers on the beach. Obviously, the grin he tried to suppress comes out, not escaping Veronica’s watchful eye. 

“Come _on_ , Jughead!”

_Fuck you’re gorgeous,_ he sends before turning to Veronica. “Okay, come sit. I need to tell you something.”

She sits next to him on his ratty sofa, the contrast between it and her designer clothes summing up their differences. The way she sits – cross-legged, body twisted so she’s facing him – reminds him of their closeness, though. Not only physically at this moment, but in life. Friends throughout anything, the annoying younger sister he never got, the _caring_ sister he now has. 

There’s a look of concern on her face. Her hands sit clasped together on her knee, and her eyes are soft. “Jug, what’s up?” 

He can’t help but laugh. “Are you really that worried about me _smiling?”_

She furrows her eyebrows at him, lips curling up into a slight smile. “Yes, Jughead! You never smile!”

He laughs again. “Well, get used to the new Jughead I guess.”

“The new…” She cuts herself off, gazing into the distance. A second later, her eyes snap back to his. “Wait, what is happening?”

“Veronica, I met someone.”

Her squeals are deafening. He’s sure the whole building must’ve heard her, and some probably thought it was the fire alarm. She’s clapping, too, her eyes glistening with what he hopes isn’t tears, although he’s sure it is. Trust Veronica to cry at the thought of him having met someone.

She stops suddenly, hands suspended in mid-air. “To clarify, you’ve met someone means, like, romantically, right? Not a criminal or something.”

Shaking his head, he’s smiling. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Why would I tell you I met a _criminal?_ Both our fathers are criminals!”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, dumbfounded. 

“So, _yes_ , I met someone romantically.”

She lurches forward, wrapping her arms around him. “Oh my god,” she sobs, “I’m so happy for you.”

Reluctantly, he hugs her back. “Thank you, but you really don’t need to cry.”

That only makes her sob louder. Right next to his ear. 

“Is this not a bit of an overreaction?” he mutters, half-hoping she doesn’t hear, half-hoping she does.

Of course, one of her many talents she’s gained over the years of their friendship is noticing his muttered sarcastic comments. So she pulls back, straightening her skirt out with her hand as she sits down. “Forsythe–”

“Oh no,” he groans, “ _not_ the full name.”

She grins. “Forsythe Pendleton Jon–”

“No!”

Narrowing her eyes, she cocks her head to the side. “Does this mysterious ‘someone’ know your full name? Because–”

He cuts her off. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” “That’s a no!” She smiles triumphantly. “When do I get to meet her, then?”

He sighs, flinging his head back onto the sofa, and mutters, “This weekend.”

She squeals again. “Okay, Forsythe, I need details. Ooh, wait! Wine first.” 

Jughead isn’t a big drinker, but he’s willing to indulge Veronica this time. He’s happy that she’s happy for him, if not slightly concerned about what she’ll be like this weekend with Betty. He’s tempted to tell a slight white lie of Betty’s arrival being Saturday not Friday just so he can get _one_ evening with her alone...

As he plods to the refrigerator to get the bottle of wine, he quickly sends Betty a text.

_Told her. She’s very enthusiastic. BTW, I’m telling her you get here on Saturday so we can have Friday night alone ;) Miss you._

The winking face might be a bit much, he realizes, but luckily her reply comes in almost immediately.

_Sounds good ;) Miss you too._

He smiles at that. A huge, bashful smile because he now _knows_ he is the luckiest bastard in the whole damn universe. 

“Is that her?” Veronica demands loudly, popping the bubble he found himself in.

“Yes,” he says, pocketing his phone and opening the refrigerator. He grabs the bottle and the only two wine glasses he owns – a moving in gift from Veronica – and heads back to the sofa. 

Veronica does the honors of pouring the wine. Apparently there’s a technique that _you just don’t understand, Jughead_ , so she insists upon it. To him, wine’s wine, but she has her quirks. 

He can tell she means business because her heels have come off, abandoned on the floor, and she’s crossed her legs despite being in a skirt. 

She takes a long sip of wine before studying the bottle. “Pinot Noir 2011? Hmm, not bad.”

“Uh, thanks?”

She brushes him off. “So, Jughead, details.”

Part of him is tempted to just tell her the basics, but once he starts, he can’t seem to stop talking about Betty. It’s just, he’s so excited and _happy_ and he wants to share that with someone who seems equally as happy. That was always going to be Veronica, he doesn’t know why he ever doubted that.

So he tells her almost everything. About how they met, how they clicked almost immediately, how amazing she is. He tells her about her photography, the butterflies feeling he gets whenever he thinks about her, how he misses her already. 

Veronica smiles as he speaks, tearing up at multiple points. She just lets him speak though, undoubtedly just happy to see him happy. 

“...so that’s why I didn’t get much writing done,” he finishes. “Well, I guess I did, just not the novel.”

She uses her perfectly manicured nail to dab away the tears from under her eyes. “You wrote about her?” she asks, emotional.

He nods. 

“Who knew you could be such a romantic?” “She hasn’t read them.” Obviously, that’s entirely out of order. “Jughead! She showed you her photography, you have to show her your writing!”

He rolls his eyes, thinking he should, he _wants_ to, but not wanting to admit that Veronica is right. “Maybe.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You know what? I think you two will be good friends.”

–

Betty’s bus arrives at Riverdale’s bus station at 4 p.m. on Friday. 

Jughead arrives on his bike to pick her up at 3:30.

He waits nervously for that half an hour, constantly checking his phone, wondering if she’s changed her mind, so when the bus pulls up, he almost misses it. He hears a yelled _Jug!_ only to look up to see Betty running towards him.

Before he knows it, he has arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Hi,” she says as she pulls back, a slight blush covering her face.

“Hey,” he grins. He eyes her up and down. “How do you look so beautiful after a 3-hour bus ride?”

She shrugs. “You’re just saying that because you want something.”

“So what if I do?” he says, leaning down to capture her lips. 

Looking at his bike, she gestures to it. “You’d better get me home, then.”

Having Betty ride on the back of his bike is something Jughead wants to relive every single day. Her arms are wrapped around his waist, she’s wearing one of _his_ leather jackets, one of _his_ helmets, as they speed through town. He loves the feeling of her against him and he loves how _his_ she looks. 

He pulls into the underground parking lot of his building, watching as she gracefully attempts to climb off the bike. She only stumbles once, and he laughs at her, pulling her into a kiss.

“You’re an idiot,” she mumbles, pouting.

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “Now let’s get you upstairs.”

They make it up to his fifth-floor apartment with little incidence. They share kisses in the elevator, but nothing gets out of hand due to the threat of interruptions, so they’re just happy to enjoy each others’ company. It may have only been a few days, but he missed her so much. He thinks that’s the first indication of something about this being, well, right. 

“It’s not much,” he says as he unlocks his front door. “Definitely not Veronica’s place.”

He chuckles, trying to lift his nerves. Deep down, he knows Betty doesn’t care about where he’s from, where he lives, the whole _father in prison_ thing. They’d spoken about it near the end of the trip, words whispered into the darkness of the night as the waves crashed around them. She’d told him none of that mattered, she liked him for him. He’d wanted to tell her he loved her, he loved her despite the short time they’d spent together. But he didn’t. 

That night, he’d decided he wanted to spend forever with her.

As they walk through the door, he watches her look around, waiting for her to say something. He can’t read her expression, but her eyes are soft as they wander around what’s visible of his small apartment. 

They land on him. “It’s perfect,” she says, smiling. “But… I’m quite interested in the bedroom.” He groans through a laugh. “Now you’re the idiot.”

She leans into him, dropping her bag on the floor and pressing her lips to his. She inadvertently pushes him against the wall. “You love it,” she mumbles against his lips.

Humming in approval, he says, “That I do.”

There’s a flash of panic in his brain before he remembers that _she_ insinuated it. Whether or not she meant it that way is something he decides to leave for now. But… it’s _true._ He does love it, just like he loves the way she feels as she pushes against him further, her tongue making its way into his mouth.

“Bedroom,” she whispers in his ear.

In response, he brings one hand up to cup her face, kissing her even deeper, while the other fumbles for hers. Once he grabs it, he pulls away from the kiss with a shit-faced grin and tugs her towards his bedroom.

–

Their day together is filled with different kinds of firsts. The first time she visits him, the first time she rides his motorbike, the first time she’s in his apartment. And it’s the first time in his bed.

Maybe he’s being stupid, but having her in _his_ space, in his world, feels different to how it did in Seaside. It feels more grounded, more real. Like if she didn’t want it, she wouldn’t have come here. It would’ve been an easy out; him leaving, them never seeing each other again. But that’s not the case. She made that effort. She’s here.

After making sure she’s fully satisfied (for _now)_ following their time apart, they’re laying in his bed, duvet covering just enough. She has her head resting on his chest – something he’s come to realize is one of his favorite things – and an arm thrown across him. He’s running his fingers through her hair, just as she likes, unable to wipe a smile off of his face. 

“Am I dreaming?” he says.

She giggles. “I don’t think so. Why?”

He lets out a longing sigh. “You’re _here_.”

Craning her neck, she looks up at him. “Yeah,” she almost whispers, “I’m here.”

He gets the overwhelming urge to kiss her before he realizes he _can_. And so he does. The angle is awkward, both of them straining just to get that contact, but somehow it’s perfect. The gentle movement of her lips against his, how soft hers are, the way she knows exactly how to kiss him. 

Jughead can almost feel himself fall more and more in love with her.

He sighs again as they pull back and she resumes her position on his chest. He can hear her murmur something, but he can’t work out her words. 

“What was that?” he asks as he draws shapes on her shoulder with his forefinger. 

Her sudden movements shock him. She’s yanking her head away from him, sitting up, her hand holding the duvet to her chest. There’s a distinct softness in her eyes, though, as she watches him as if she’s staring into his soul. 

“What?” he asks with a nervous laugh, a stray hand finding its way to rub the back of his neck.

Her eyes flutter closed for just a second as if she’s thinking, deciding what to say. 

Anxiety sits low in his stomach as he watches her yet his brain still manages to think about how beautiful she is. Because she is. She’s possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

With this position they’re in – him still laying down, her sitting up in front of him – the sunlight from his tiny window manages to stream in and beam down on her. It always manages to find her, giving her a spotlight or a halo. It shines through her messy hair, bringing out the golden undertones. That only serves to accentuate the blue-green of her eyes, every color that reminds him of the beach and of her. 

“Jug,” she says, her finger tracing his jaw and her eyes following suit. “Jug, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

And he grins. He grins wider than he’s ever done before. He can't quite believe it and he’s so damn happy that he almost forgets to say it back.

“Is that smile of yours a good sign?”

He only smiles bigger. “Yes. My god, Betty, yes. Because I _know_ I’m falling in love with you.”

He’s not sure who moves first, but they end up somewhere in the middle, clinging onto one another as their lips meet. It’s soft at first but quickly gets heated. It’s filled with love, though, it’s filled with the love their kisses have always been filled with, except now it’s _more_ because the words they so desperately wanted to say hang in the air around them.

It feels like more because, despite any worries either of them had, she’s here with him.

And most importantly, it’s _real_.

–

Jughead had agreed to introduce Betty to Veronica on Saturday evening. Veronica had insisted she cooked – well, pay for her own private chef to cook – for them over at her house with an agreed meeting time of 6 pm. 

That leaves him with a whole day _alone_ with Betty.

Part of him thought Veronica would insist on sending Smithers to collect her from the bus station or something. She’s like that. She never knows when to stop, and what isn’t her business. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t pull anything like that. She’s being… nice, Jughead thinks, although he wouldn’t be shocked if she’d got his number on the whole _day she’s arriving_ thing. 

Either way, it’s worked out in his favor. 

Without an on-site private pool, they have to find other ways to entertain themselves. Which is not difficult in any way at all.

Jughead wakes first as usual. Betty’s quiet snores fill the room as she lay on her back, one arm flung off the edge of the bed and one flung over his stomach. She looks peaceful, like she always does when she sleeps, and of course, she looks beautiful. He takes the moment to note how she looks in _his_ room, taking in all of her colors mixed with those of his space, sure the memory will be one he’s grateful for when she isn’t here.

Although it’s early still, he sneaks out of bed, leaving her to sleep while he prepares breakfast. With her expertise saving his attempt to make her favorite breakfast last time, he now feels pretty confident in his ability to make crepes for her. So that’s what he does. 

Aware of the fact that it’s his _own_ kitchen, he manages to make a lot less mess. A lot less mess and even less noise. His apartment is small, and he has other plans for waking her up today.

Once the batter is resting and the toppings are prepared, he quickly freshens up in the bathroom and heads back to Betty.

She’s still asleep but he selfishly decides that he’s waited long enough. Sitting next to her, he brushes the hair out of her face.

“Hey,” he whispers, waiting until her eyes flutter open. “Hey, good morning, beautiful.”

“Hey,” she croaks, bleary-eyed. 

He chuckles softly. “You okay?” Burying her head into him, she nods. “Come back to bed.” “I made breakfast,” he says, tracing down her side with his fingertips.

“Come here,” she whines, catching her hand and pulling it towards her. She presses a kiss against his knuckles, smiling. 

He practically melts on the spot. She’s just so adorable and god, could he get any fucking luckier? He has to give in to her, too, falling forward onto the bed to lay next to her.

She’s still clutching his hand to her chest as she speaks. “I love you, you know?” Nodding, he grins. “I do, but I can’t really believe it. Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”

She pinches him and he gasps, laughing, “Okay! No, I’m definitely not.” He pulls her closer to him. “I love you, too, by the way.”

The smile she gives him in response, again, makes him count his blessings. 

He’s unable to resist her after that, leaning in to meet her lips. It quickly gets heated, with her hand snaking in between them to try to push his boxers off. She’s still naked under the covers, so he throws them off, and begins kissing down her body until he reaches where she wants him most.

“Is this your idea of waking me up?” she says as she wiggles her hips towards his face.

“Yes,” he smirks, pressing kisses into her inner thigh.

Her hands fly down into his hair, and she attempts to pull him towards her center. “Please,” she whines.

“Your wish is my command,” he says, cringing slightly at himself. Luckily, she giggles but cuts herself off with a moan when he moves his mouth to the right place.

He makes her come twice before sinking into her. Their moans echo off the walls, forgetting that their privacy isn’t quite as it was before. Neither care, though, as they finish together and he collapses by the side of her.

“I think,” she starts, fiddling with his fingers, “the time apart has made that better.”

“Are you saying we should be apart more often?”

“You just try getting rid of me.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” she echos, already making an attempt to stumble out of bed.

In a slice of domesticity he could get used to, they finish making breakfast together. It’s like that day in the beach house but in his apartment… it feels like a life they could, one day, lead together. 

During breakfast, Jughead decides to follow up on Veronica’s advice from the other day.

“Hey, you know the writing I was doing during our time together?” he asks as he cuts into a strawberry.

She nods.

“Well, some of it is, uh, inspired by you.” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “And I was wondering if you’d like to read some of it? Y’know, since you showed me your photography.”

Her whole face lights up. “I’d love to.”

He gives her a select few of his short works from the vacation, including his favorite he’s creatively titled _The Beach_. As she reads it, he remembers the words he wrote.

_Her hair is the color of the sand and the waves and ripples of the sea. When the sun shines down on her, it’s as if she’s an angel sent down from heaven. She’s given a halo that serves to make her glow in a way nothing else ever could._

_When I look into her eyes, I see the sea. I see blues and greens swirled together, exactly what I see when my eyes skim over the sand and to the ocean._

_She is the beach and I never want to leave._

When she looks up, there are tears in her eyes. “You wrote this about me?” she asks, and he hesitantly nods. “Wow.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she replies. She leans over the table, pulling him towards her by the collar of his shirt into a hard kiss. When she lets him go, she’s blushing, smiling bashfully. “I love _you.”_

–

Even with a whole day to get ready, Betty and Jughead manage to be late to dinner.

They get distracted in the shower. He was trying to be quick, making the decision to hop in first, but apparently, Betty thinks it’s a good idea to join him. It _is_ , it completely is. In fact, there’s nothing he likes more. It’s just, his shower is considerably smaller than that at the beach house, making it far more difficult for any kind of activity. Naturally, though, they manage to make it work. Eventually. 

But that leads to a delay. 

So they turn up at Veronica’s front door half an hour late.

He’s nervous anyway at the thought of them meeting, and the added lateness doesn’t exactly help. Having Betty by his side does, though. 

“It’ll be okay,” she whispers to him, squeezing his hand. She must’ve sensed his nerves. That, or maybe it’s the way he can’t keep still that tips him off.

As he hears the tell-tale clicking of Veronica’s heels through the wall, he takes a deep breath.

“Hello!” Veronica all but announces as she swings open the door. 

He looks at Betty and he can’t help but smile. “Betty, this is my best friend, Veronica.” He looks at Veronica. “Veronica, this is my girlfriend, Betty.”

He watches as Veronica pulls Betty in for a hug like she’s known her for years and he feels all of his nerves drain away. It doesn’t matter, he realizes, what happens now. It doesn’t matter because he has the best girlfriend and the best friend anyone could ask for.

Arm linked through Betty’s, Veronica looks over and grins at him. “Jughead, meet my new best friend.”

Despite the grin on his face, he rolls his eyes at the pair of them.

“Betty,” she continues, showing no sign of stopping, “this is Forsythe Pendleton–”

“Veronica!”

_~fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eee!! we made it!! i can't quite believe it's actually completed. i wrote this fic a couple of months ago and now it's finally all out in the world. i really hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> tbh this ending was kind of difficult to write. when i started the fic, i was writing it with the intention of writing a lowkey angsty End Of Summer parting, but then the whole practically angstless thing happened so it only seemed right to finish it happy and with confirmation of their ongoing relationship. and of course, could i really finish a fic this long without them saying i love you? nope, no way. 
> 
> thank you for reading this. whether you've been here from the start or reading it later, i would love to hear your thoughts. thank you for all your comments and kudos. 
> 
> ~new things coming soon~

**Author's Note:**

> soooo, what did you think of the first chapter? i know, i'm sorry, it's another one of my lowkey trashy creations. but hey, who knows? it might turn out good ;) (ok well i have finished writing it so i *hope* it's good)
> 
> please leave me your love in the form of kudos and comments so i can continue to thrive during these strange times.
> 
> btw, if you follow me on my [tumblr](https://fallout-mars.tumblr.com/), i occasionally post sneak peeks and/or extras, so please join me!
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading! see you back here soon for another chapter


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